She steals your breath away,
while you are unaware,
In a blink, at a red light, through the window
of a dark blue mustang.
Her hair flows like liquid wheat
down around her bronzed shoulders;
brilliant, golden strands of sun,
like tiny sacrifices laid out for the Gods.
She turns in your direction and it is
suddenly possible that your mother
is not dying of cancer.
Her lips are full and pink, sweet bites
of cotton candy, that softly beckon
your forgotten boyhood fantasies.
She lets you borrow her smile and
tilts her head back, knowing,
that you are changed.
You envision making her pancakes
on a cold, winter morning; whisking
devotion and years of serenity into the batter.
You nibble on her grace while sipping
orange juice, and marvel that time has not
siphoned an ounce from her wellspring
Then you remember that you have to pick
up the dry cleaning.
Somewhere, a baby cries, salt is spilled, and
the glistening back of a whale breaks
the silence of the sea.
The light turns green.