Invisible Routines

Each morning, the ritual slips into my day,

a dance with the coffee, as the world drifts away.

The rusted spoon stirs slowly in the mug,

like a tiny revolution, unnoticed, a shrug.

I sip and I think, in a quiet ballet,

as I blend dreams with caffeine, the clouds drift gray.

This little act, invisible, a part of my song,

while the world spins around me, moving along.