A floating dance floor

On a wooden dock

On a wooden dock,

a floating dance floor,

the young couple waltzes

unhurriedly.

Lovingly, they hold one another against time.

How is it, to be so

blissfully unmindful

of the clamor?

Or the urgency

Rained down from the traffic that passes them by?

On a wooden dock

in the shadow of the University

on the waters of Union Bay and Montlake Cut,

I witness a miracle.

Or, do I see a mirage,

perhaps too good to be true?

So I slow,

among the early morning commuters

on the 520 bridge leaving Seattle;

and I stare.

In order to drink in

this grace so unexpected;

so out of place.

On a wooden dock,

a floating dance floor,

the young couple waltzes

evidence itself of the embodiment of salvation

–even amidst the jarring swirl of hurry–

on an ordinary spring day.

Their dance,

now a snapshot frozen in my mind,

and in my heart,

a reflection of serenity.

Or is it an offering

on this wooden dock,

a floating dance floor,

a place where prayers are always heard

and sometimes answered?