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SERENDIPITY
I
know it's cosmic!
It's
like, heavy, man!
Mystery
inscrutable to regular analytical tools,
A
Logic whose outcome sits beyond
Scope
of rational, academic exercise!
Even
if I had my desk in library stacks
And
with it ready reference to twenty, one-foot-thick
Ancient
texts, I doubt any human learning might lead me
(However
diligent my application) to fathom what
Great
Luck had brought you into my arms,
And
yet tonight sustains my rapture.
Perhaps
I unduly vex myself?
Nonetheless
I wonder how had it come to be
That
in a parking garage, a great space,
Which
on weekends became a swap meet,
A
regular New York City in-door, flea market,
Offering
all kinds of old and colorful goods for sale,
A
jam-packed scene, row after row of tables and stalls,
Set
against both sides of wide aisles,
Here's
the question,
Had
love found its way through all the material clutter?
Too,
I ask, what Providence had prompted Johnny,
My
friend, and my helper, a man,
Who
always had kept to his own counsel,
--
This, the one time, for he never, never
Interfered,
ventured opinion on any other matter! --
He
interrupted the normal, business routine,
The
booth’s weekly setup.
He
used all the resolve he could muster,
And
reiterated to me, not once,
But
on at least, half-dozen, separate occasions,
A
notion that you and I were right,
Good,
one for the other, in every special way.
Johnny
said you wanted me.
You
later objected,
Said
no such thought had ever entered your head,
That
his estimation about your feelings toward me
Was
wrong, simply mistaken, yet, you also confided,
Women
frequently flirt to their business advantage.
I
had noticed you, to be sure!
You
were a regular customer.
A
tall woman, and skinny, you had long brown hair,
And
a nice face with a quick smile.
I
shall always remember
The
way you hurried through your purchases
With
attentive eyes and lengthy fingers,
How
sprite your manner and step!
Still
no thought of romance had entered my mind.
I
had not imagined us a suitable couple.
No!
Not at all,
Until
that one, the one, very early morning, when,
During
a heavy rainstorm, I drove across Brooklyn
To
collect you from the hostel.
We
were going antiquing.
It
was to be our first daylong excursion,
And
in what seemed a proper gesture at the time,
I
stopped at an all-night shop, and bought you
A
single, exotic flower in a clear glass vase.
You,
sister, limestone island, Baltic woman,
I,
who had sprung from the land-locked plains of Illinois,
Across
countless markets and through
All
the many wares we had examined for purchase,
For
the decades, the year after year,
We
had been searching,
Searching
and searching, hoping for treasure,
Now
there it lay before us, a worth whose value matched
The
highest dollar bid at an Old-Master auction.
Consider
it, the millions-to-one odds
Stacked
against our favor, I... I, I mean, really!
I
trust you have come to believe that
This
thing of ours bespeaks no ordinary human convention.
Let
us remember,
Whomsoever
the divine designates together,
No
mortal may draw asunder.
This
is it! I do! I do love you!
Tonight
the pilot naps in the back seat.
I
sit in front, before the wheel in the cockpit,
Yet
I do not fly the aircraft. The bright,
Rollover
arrows signal the glide path.
And
over the wire direct to my ear,
Ten
thousand watts propel the voice.
It
says, “You do! You do love her!”
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