There is no great fanfare
when you discover your soul
is caught by another, no
trumpets or overture medley,
no perfectly choreographed
dance scene in the street,
the handsome men in tucked
primary-colored shirts, beardless,
slinging arms round the
impossibly small waists of
their female counterparts, no
swish of pastel skirts or harmonized
whistling, high-kicking
with all their might to celebrate
your admittance to love-- no,
only the soft pit pit perkle
of the one-cup coffee maker,
sugar and mug waiting quietly nearby
and a single trill of birdsong
outside in response to your nearly
imperceptible "oh."
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