fresh eyes

.

some days
i let my camera choose the focus
and fall in love
with imperfection
all over again

.

i dream myself awake and wander
through corners of remembrance
there is no hope
there is only hope
there is only keeping on

we all climb the same mountain
weight-bearing and moon lifted

and the snail that eats
the lily
must surely taste
sunshine

i cannot blame her
for surviving
though i admit
there are times
when i toss her into weeds

where she will climb
and eat the flavor
of absent-minded forgiveness

just as content
with a broken down aster

alive

.

.

.


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