There are transitory moments
when the world
comes out of its dressing room,
so stunning we lose our balance.
This moment of spiritual frenzy
does not wait to be discovered.
It comes and goes like a fire
of dry kindling,
and can be easy to miss
depending on one’s latitude.
Light spills through antique bottles
on a sunken windowsill,
stones and tree-roots
are less discreet than usual.
We feel our fingertips more closely,
an un-namable itch turns over inside us
and we want to know everything.
It is my job to point this out,
as I pointed out the copper-plated bar top
while you gobbled up your crustaceans,
swimming in a sauce of cream and brown roux,
sopping up the last remnants with grilled bread.
Planets may rotate and stars explode,
but earthbound as we are,
we listen for warblers.
We look ahead to coffee,
meals, holidays, weather.