They were an unlikely pair,
he, the flute player,
was handsome in the conventional sense,
the type seen in soap operas
playing a doctor
that nurses fall in love with.
The woman, who accompanied him
on a Spanish guitar
was extremely plain.

As the music took off
a miracle occurred.
She became a radiant beauty
filling the pedestrian street
with a whiff of the unattainable,
of what I would, if lucky, occasionally glimpse
but never possess,
of perfection
that only exists
in the mind of dreamers.

For a while
the street was timeless
suspended in an abstract eternity
till the music concluded
and she sank back into her own plainness,
thin pale lips,
inward looking eyes behind thick lenses
and her goddess’ body
hidden behind a long black dress.