A miracle.

You sit a salt and pepper

pot away - the late summer

sun lighting up your face a half smile

teasing across your lips but

this is not a miracle.

There’s something in the

way you hold your glass

offering it in slow light steps

toying, playing, yet

this is not a miracle.

You subconsciously wipe the

wrinkles from your summer

skirt and cross your suntanned

legs, lift your face to the fading

day and I know

this is not a miracle.

Night slowly chases away the

day and we climb in bed together

and I search inside your eyes

once more as we dance our dance

and I know this is a

miracle.