When I am a certain flavor of lonely
I stop falling in love with women who
simply walk past me and smile.
turn to poets.
Today, under the brisk overcast
of a September Sunday morning
I drink coffee with Mary.
I lay my head in her lap
she plays with my hair
she makes me believe in God
she makes me notice miracles:
mundane, ordinary – miracles.
For the length of an iced coffee
she is the only one in my world
and that world has never been –
so entirely perfect.