Here, fortune is!
Here, yet never found
I think, an expected boon
That rarely comes ‘round

In verse, love is:
Exotic! Passionate! Prized!
A quick candle flame
Attainable, readily realized
But easily lost or missed
A tiny shooting star
Hidden in the immeasurable endless sky

Here, love is!
Already in my tenacious grasp
Common, homely, wholly ordinary
A flannel blanket wrap
In front of the fire on a cold winter’s day
Only noticed or missed when
The comforting material is absent

I find myself asking:
Is this truly love?
Not evanescent? Not exotic?
But subtle, abiding, unexpected, rough
Like the fortune never found?

The answer I am surprised to find.

Here, treasure is!
Fortune!
A gleaming chest of shiny coins,
In the dusty attic of my unexceptional
Plebeian soul.