(in a time before dating apps)
This table of noisy eating –
strange faces, chance meetings.
That half-profile:
alabaster skin,
hair pulled back
behind an ear.
Two heads turn, simultaneous
in unknowing silence,
pupil-to-pupil
question the hunger
before cheeks redden,
then turn aside.
On the threshold of grace
an upturned corner of the mouth –
darshan, a signal
at the synapse.
Dark energy
so slight, so brief
it could last for decades,
would shatter your granite statue
should you let it.
xi. 2024
