If you tiptoe to the corner,
peer around the bush
surprise the sun as it crests the hill
capture the green, gold and blue of summer
a single blade of grass in relief
against an ocean of deeper color,
if you startle that glint
of light
as it marries the previously dead
could be anything, really,
but was nothing before,
if you trace the fragile butterfly of
backbone, ribs, arc a cheek,
nose, jaw
throat
squint into the light of
technicolor reality
with all that exquisite interplay
of Gods at work
fragility is not necessarily
the same as
brittle, but it bears a remarkable
resemblance to beauty
which is why the last thing I'd spare
is my own eyesight.
