Morning Specter

These coffee beans,
crushed to small flecks,

forgot their former shape and texture,
but rise at daybreak to the glass observatory

seeing flashes of light
in geysers of hot water,

percolating, rising lively,
saying, "Wait, wait," wanting

to float in the spectrum,
stretch the wavelengths

before sinking, pulled by undertows,
to the filter for rejuvenation,

where color and character
sweep through porous membrane,

flavoring the warm ocean,
where they willingly surrender
to new vessels.

–Jari Thymian


This piece about coffee is an object poem because it is thoroughly describing the coffee itself in an objective manner. I think it could have been easy for the poem to become subjective by elaborating about what the coffee does to the writer and vice-versa, but the author does a good job of separating herself from any sort of relationship with the coffee.