SMALL FAVORS

The first time 
she did it 

it was in the hopes 
of finding for us 

(and she did) a killer

parking space:

she opened her

upturned palm,

pursed her lips,

leaned in, 

and then blew across

the supple terrain 

of her empty, ample hand.

She called this,

"blowing magic."

I swear

I could almost see

the spores of prayer

invisibly disperse

from the cradle

of her flesh

when she blew.

It was like watching

a wish take flight.

Or gold dust

evanescing into air.

We were just getting 

to really know each other

in this first visit

and so every nuance

of her being 

was a rapture 

and a cause

for sudden celebration.

Over the course of 

those few days

as time unfurled itself

I thought I saw

out of the corner of my eye,

when I wasn't looking,

this most beautiful creature

make these small favors

over and over again

over nothing in particular.

When our short visit

came to an end

I had come to believe

that everything she did

was magic, was one blessing

after the next

being blown back 

to the world to breathe.

When she left 

I knew it would not be long

before we'd meet again,

before she'd envelope me

in her beauty 

and grace

once more, simply 

by being herself

one unembellished

breath at a time.