poetry: mussels, pomme frites, extra salt
Who would have thought a guy
minding his own business in July,
would be eating mussels with a gal in November,
soaking bread in the sous, drinking Casa Lapostolle,
and, yes, pomme frites extra salt.
Not just any gal, mind you,
but a woman who has been drawn near to his heart,
to a place long dormant, unaccessed by anyone,
alive now by orchestration beyond the scope of human planning.
This woman possesses unexplored beauty and graces to live by,
freedoms to live within, love to partner in, indwelled Spirit prompting her,
only lately emerging – slowly but surely – from a life yielded
into a new reality that isn't new, but that is being realized and exposed to light.
She is being held in an eternal embrace,
and learning to trust a companion at the same time, in that embrace,
to mutually depend on,
and together seek the Companion.
Who would have thought a Colorado guy,
would be writing poetry and reading with her on a Texas morning,
walking in her parks, meeting her friends,
admiring her artistic palette of dreams for the future,
and, yes, pass me the pomme frites, extra salt.
December 2nd, 2012
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