The tea is cold and mostly gone

The tea is cold and mostly gone.

You’ve been sitting there since dawn.

I watched you flick the filter end

into the mug. I didn't bend

to take it back or carry on.

The ash is swirling in the tan,

a tiny, gray and sinking plan.

I used to reach to stop the spill,

to mend the crack or hold you still,

but I am just a tired man.