Crone entered the consciously hip coffee shop.
One-sleaved barrista was struck by trailing wisdoms,
palpable and understated.
She understood things from before.
He was struck by a beauty of spirit,
his urban neo-tribal philosophy aspired to,
but was ill-prepared to receive.
The neo-tribes knew little of earth,
or how to prepare a plot of mind,
for the seedings of faith.
Face to face with an old love,
of what he seeks,
he could only stutter,
For here?
