The April night is still and sweet
With flowers on every tree;
Peace comes to them on quiet feet,
    But not to me.

My peace is hidden in his breast
Where I shall never be,
Love comes to-night to all the rest,
    But not to me.

Waiting in line for a change;
a smile with patience.
And in your bones, you know
nothing is sacred and eternal.
The lightness of being;
always needing a hand to hold.
So while you wait in line
keep your heart content
and your ear attuned and
listen to the laughter of the world,
it won’t be so heavy this time.

Around the corner,
a blast of blue
comes screaming
just outside the coffee house.

A small boy,
no more than five,
is a beaming
chocolate goatee
from the local ice-cream parlor.

A woman chases him
with the exasperated look
of a mother on a date
with her son
.

Her eyes still red
from her four hours
of sleep,
but her smile:
as big as her son’s.

She catches him as he stops
at the smell
of fresh chocolate chip cookies
emanating from the coffee house.

Her motion is quick
and calculated
as she turns him around,
zips his jacket,
& kisses his forehead.

She takes his hand
and they are off.

I assume they live happily
ever after.