Sitting at the table, drinking coffee
You smile. An honest smile,
deep behind the eyes
and I am smitten again,
no less than that first day.
It happens constantly,
and I am always angry afterward
that I am not a camera.
My mind, it seems is an uncertain lens
unable to fully capture that magic
and carry it with me
into the uncertain weather
that populates the rest of my life.
About this poem.
The woman I love has an amazing smile.
At breakfast this morning, a friend and I were discussing the science of predicting weather.
The picture was taken from the quarry across the street from my house.
From those things, this poem. Isn’t the mind an amazing thing?