Coincidence bid me dance,
I followed, trusting the tune—
but learned I never stood a chance.

I thought I knew why I was there,
until a woman reshaped the air,
and I abandoned my mental canvas.
Surely it was not by chance.

I wondered if Aphrodite sent her,
or Venus whispered my name
as she placed her in my path—
a sudden, slant of sun on a rainy day.

But sunshine shines for more than one.
Each feels its warmth alone.
I tried to hush the voice that rose—
it knew what I refused to know:
a flower this fair must have an orchard.

Would my reaching be too bold?
I’ve learned to stand in awe,
to hold the moment,
grateful my soul found the courage
to shape a simple hello,
to hide the unsuspecting tremor in my chest.

I had to know this walking work of art.
I owed myself the try.
What was there to lose?
A painter can replace a brush.
I—the painter—she—the brush.

And then I saw her blush.
Her dark brown eyes, a flood;
my sanity, a tilt.
I wished, in clandestine,
she could be mine.

But words were useless.
Her finger wore a ring.
She was bestowed.
Spoken for.
Kept.

In another dimension,
I hope we meet again,
and I am the one.

Today was our introduction.
Fate.

For now, gratitude
for an encounter that woke my heart’s clear fervent
means only this:
out in the universe, my petal waits.

This beautiful flower could never be mine,
but she was my sign.