I know you’ve seen this:

A young woman at a small round table in a coffee shop.
Around her neck a sheer scarf, loose, one fallen end draped across a stack of books then spilling over the edge of the table.
Her elbows resting, weightless, suggestion of leaning in.
Right hand lightly touching her neck, her gaze reaching across to her partner.
The way she holds her mouth and her eyelids and her eyelashes, entire.
The way the forefinger of her left hand winds a loose lock of auburn hair, signalling the morning eternal.
The extraordinary passion of ordinary light, falling through a window over her shoulders to the floor.
The secret conversation that everyone knows, in praise of every little thing.

6 Comments

  1. Stephen, this is just beautiful. You had me at “a sheer scarf, loose, one fallen end draped across a stack of books then spilling over the edge of the table.”

    Scarf. Loose. Fallen. Draped. Spilling.

    And then, “in praise of every little thing.”

    What a passionate little piece.

  2. Ah, yes. I know this. And it’s so comforting to my soul that others know it it the exact same way. What a wonderful connection you have made through this pattern of words, Stephen!

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