Perfect Morning

Had we been sitting in our assigned seats,

Facing our western wall,

Otherwise known as the Pacific Ocean,

We might have concluded we should not come again.

For surely we have repeated, to the point of monotony,

That the combination of  limitless blue-green sky,

enhanced by the occasional marshmallow cloud,

reflected in the morning’s lake gentle sea,

could not simply be again subjected to a false

typecast “perfection”.

Had you been here, noting all manner of

Of accommodation this day has visited upon us,

Whether it be the seemingly ubiquitous smile

Of all those who pass our uncrowned throne chairs,

Or our near beatific welcoming smile,

As though we are granting access to a dream

That offers peace and beauty.

You would have agreed that we must leave,

Or risk deciding, as only two atheists might,

That we need to review our beliefs.