As when the softly undulating
Iridescent school of herring
Suddenly bank to the left en masse,
Leaving a startled cloud of perfect bubbles;
It's something like that, but not quite.
Or similar to the taut pink swell
Of maternal abdomen,
A rosy glow like warm windblown cheeks,
That feathery tissue nest wrapped in pulsing coils,
Baking fulfillment at body temperature.
It's kind of like that, only more so.
Then there's the gastronomical success
Of the flawless meal,
Those varying distinct tastes, the sweet
And sour, tangy and mellow that waltz
As consecutive partners on our tongues.
Or a snowflake suspended in time on a mitten,
Temporary as a breath, cool glass lace
Flawless for an instant,
More poignant than an artist's pen,
More lasting in memory than a photograph.
It's, well, something like that.