ripe

I yearn for this moment 

to mean something 

for the 

sweat from 

my cocktail’s 

hourglass shape 

to drip 

down the glass 

and reveal to me 

a message 

a secret 

a something 

for the 

flicker of this 

candle flame

dancing at the center 

of my table  

to ignite 

a hope

a dream 

a memory 

a meaning 

but alas 

I merely notice 

the overwhelming 

ordinariness 

pervading this place  

on my left

the sound 

of an ocean

blanketed in blackness 

whispering loudly

into the darkness 

to my front, 

the muffled chatter,

cheerful and warm, 

of a family to dinner 

to my right, 

the white noise 

of a busy blender 

and a bartender hard at work 

what is this moment, 

and each that follows,

if not 

like a coconut 

who thumps 

to the earth 

released by the  

very moment 

it’s perfectly ripe? 

maybe this moment 

and the one that follows 

finds its fulfillment

precisely in its perfect 

momentary ripeness 

–and its oomph?  

in the act of fully 

letting it

go