Handle with care

Empty tea cups sitting on a white clothed table,
only two fingers can hold.
delicate porcelain shine
a fragile stillness.
Silence cracking through gloss
The kettle pierces silence, filled.
Warm water holds me in this tiny place.
Searching for a conversation with other piercing sounds,
soothed by the water that holds it
cups ting in a distance
clinging to kept resilience
kettle water chills from lack of touch, then tips
tiny empty tea cups, steadying to stand still
teetering to the edge
delicate enough to shatter
a melody of wind chimes grazed
warm water over a warm palm
tiny empty tea cups
quivering trepid
‘til placed in the palm of my hand.