When I am a certain flavor of lonely

I stop falling in love with women who

simply walk past me and smile.

I instead,

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.