Joy Ragged

October 29, 2016 § Leave a comment

When I see a silken
wilting flower, I don’t ask myself
if life’s worth living, or decide that being alive is great.
I only want to
tell the world about these perfect petals,
pink, and bruised to purple,
crumpling and
exhausted.

This exquisite impulse
transcends symmetry to dance drunk, fling torn veils,
and be.

img_20161027_162013.jpg

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