The Book

Did I meet you in that little shop
where the book of love is kept behind the counter?
Impossible except our names are there
in golden script upon the luminary page.

Who would have thought the string bean boy,
the girl who squats and hops like garden toads
would find each other in the deep immensity
but there you are, my fingers trace your name.

I see mine linked with yours by golden hearts
the shop’s proprietor, eternal smile,
before the book is closed takes up the pen
turns the page, and writes our names again.