I stumble through the speech I'm giving... then I see her..... I've witnessed her....in many places Eyes soft brown, her composure sublime. She cultivated the presence of a thorough discipline. Even in the sorry shape I'm in I felt the Divine within her voice. She always takes the lowest seat. The seat in the back. The seat where she could observe, Unnoticed. I hope this noise I making Would summon the music, A bright harmony between us. My warmth expands in her radiance... They say, roses lean in To capture her scent. Her dreadlocks, like corded dark ropes Frames a oval face Of bronzed porcilean.... At once I'm reduced to Babbling about increased funding for the center...when I think No one is listening... I leave the stage Like a unwanted child... I spy the Madinka print, Walking towards me... The dancing dreads, and jewelry on her wrist reflecting sunlight like a thousand stars.... Doves suddenly flutter, Like the beating of my heart. My shyness immediately Becomes a hinderance... But she relieves the tension With laughter.... My spirit renewed She asks calmly... "How can I help ?" That moment, my resistance was gone, Drawn like the moth to the flame.... Her voice alone triggered thoughts of a gentler universe.... The speech didn't matter at this point.