Beauty

Beauty and Perfection
are coy flirts, simply. Not
an old married couple,
hand folded in wrinkled hand.
I do not see Beauty only in
perfect ratios, in infinite lines,
in the decision to match
or not to match
red with green.
I see Beauty in
the wonderful messiness of life-
in the delicious sloppiness of
the world in spring,
in the outrageous colors of
an ostentatious sunset,
in the dripping kisses of
a wet, smelly dog,
in the wispy oddness of
a baby's hair,
in the desperate, divine Disorder of
two imperfect souls,
colliding together to make one
humble, humorous, ugly and beautiful
body.
Beauty is Perfection? No.
Place an even yardstick
in the shadow of
the glorious chaos of a mighty tree,
graced with the changing light of
an unstable sun,
and you will see
where Beauty lies.