Tanzanite
Just when you think it will rain forever.
That you’ll never see the sun again.
A small accident of wonderful happens.
Hot glazed doughnuts fall out of the sky.

She wore blue boots.
A diamond stud in her perfect nose.
And a ring the color of a cautionary tale.
Naturally— she was blonde.

An uncomplicated spark leapt between us.
Like something out of an IKEA box.
Only a fool believes in love at first sight.
A wise man needs an hour in an airport bar.

I slipped a dime into the dark slot of her cleavage.
And tugged gently on her red lacquered finger.
She guessed my weight and read my fortune.
Looked into me like an x-ray machine.

The problem with airplanes is they fly away.
She kissed me on both cheeks like a French girl.
Then disappeared into jet fumes and freezing rain.
A vapor trail of possibility or pipe dream.

The next day I climbed a windmill.
Like a Portuguese sailor in the rigging.
I scribbled a message onto a cocktail napkin.
And stuffed it into a bottle.

Then I pitched it into the desert sea.
It arced like a golden comet.
And splashed into the sand and sage.
Throwing sparks of Tanzanite.

The color of her boots.