The Consecration of Coffee One day of god drinking coffee in my patio nothing is normal–    not the calla    with its penis of gold    nor the iris    like purple lava    a volcano spills. I find in the depths of the cup chasubles embroidered with black moths & red stains–    the sun fires    a scintillation of silver bullets    & of candles drowned–       there is blood in its shine. I place the cup on its saucer with a most tender care as if it were a chalice & say the litany:       Guatemala       Nicaragua       El Salvador & one side of my heart tastes white & sweet like cane sugar    & the other,       like coffee,         bitter & black. –Rafael Jesús González