We wake to a milky milky sky,
the slight discolor of cream,
a spackle of brown sugar
and the first orange glint of dawn.
Already the air has color to it,
and we cough, pause, laugh
our lungs still not used to Hanoi..
She stretches and asks
if we should go out and find a café.
She wants her morning coffee.
I already know where we will go
and I already smell its thickness,
its Robusta texture, the way it lingers
as if it to is in the atmosphere,
the way its taste swamps our senses.
The city is awake this early,
the roads covered with motorcycles,
the sidewalk a maze of street food,
Bo Kho, sugar cane juice, fresh bread,
chom choms, bitter melon,
and the coffee scent strong and alert,
waiting for us to sit and feel its might.