Coffee mugs
Sweating as they dance
To the cadence
Of excited conversation
The beads — banding at the base
Wedding the wood
A trace wetting to follow

The rings would work
Down to the edge of their table
Anticipating the next quip
Clopping as they are caught
Along the lip
Of syncopated speech
And lingering questions

The air won’t be this crisp again
Until the sun demands distance
Mugs won’t dance like this again
Until the fall.