New Love

(A Villanelle)

The woman with bohemian luck promises

we’ve lived together several lifetimes.

And you and I stare at her and smile, spiritual novices

blown in from a prairie to island city premises

exploring the edge of the Pacific, in search of new life vines

from a woman with bohemian luck promises.

This rock, with its soft forest floor, tells of a colossus

of travelling seeds and souls over centuries, sublime

like the grey owl hidden in the oak, outwaiting the kingdom’s novices.

For years, you and me talk about trading oil for ocean goddesses

and renewed life demands we connect our days with divine

belief in the woman with bohemian luck promises

because she knows one of our lifetimes is upon us.

When a trail’s snagging branch hooks, or a sky opens, we read the signs

to conjure courage. Pioneering new love, we are brilliant novices,

in touch with our ancient selves, surrendering to earthly solaces

that we will find our way here, to mountains worth the climb.

You are no longer life’s awkward novices

assures the woman with bohemian luck promises.

Figure 1: Intuition