call it the universe

call it god. call it the curve of your lover’s lips curving upward in his sleep, only half of this world. call it the first rush of caffeine in the morning, holy trinity of espresso, chocolate and cinnamon. the long buried line that surfaces miraculously while foraging for words. and perhaps most affectingly, the glass cabinet shattering over your seat minutes after you rise. the mere idea prompting your resolutely christian grandmother to visit 黃大仙 temple, thanking the immortal for your 大命. the ordinary forever kissing the sacred — grace dwelling in both houses.