A Fallen Thread

We were just talking, coffee steam on the glass,

the small kind of talk that helps the time pass.

Then I saw it, right there, a curve dark and fine,

resting soft on her cheek, a small, perfect line.

A single eyelash, a fallen, dark thread.

And for a moment, all the chatter in my head

just stopped. Everything went quiet and still.

That tiny, fragile thing, against her will,

had left its post. And I couldn't say why,

but watching it there, I just felt a sigh

rise up, unbidden, for something unknown.

A small, quiet beauty, suddenly shown.