George Lober

My Father's Cup

Not that any son
could confuse
sacramental wine
for the Folgers he used,

or a chalice’s thin lip
and narrow waist,
for this mug’s mouth
and glazed broad handle,

but sipping from it
in the morning now
suggests a passing,
an exchange of spirits,

not unlike that between
the graying dawn
and the waxy fumes
of a just extinguished candle.

George Lober

Books by George Lober