I think you would sit down and talk with me more often.
Then I could say to you, "That something beautiful
reminded me entirely of you, because you are all I think
about where beauty is concerned." I know you are
concerned about beauty, and I wish I could say more
to you on the subject, but all I know is that a dragonfly
drifting lazily across my paddle-strokes among
the quiet of a northern lake is more like you
than I can really put into words literally. The problem
is I don't think you can actually see beyond the mirrored
reflections of the paddle dipping into the water,
I think you only see the twilight getting darker
and me, a lone loon drifting infinitely among twilight
makes you feel older than the snow coming later on.
So you become a fledgling for some mighty oak
or some tall prairie-grass, and dance lightly among
their roots, as they attempt to disentangle themselves
from the past. And so I'm left drifting, drifting casually
in an attempt to weed away the lilies lying face up
in the water. It almost reminds me of some book
I once read, and you probably read too, somewhere
along the journey to now. And somehow, bashful
laughter is all I really care about. The something
beautiful wasn't you. It just reminded me of you.
I know what I'm looking for, and I saw it tonight,
I felt it tonight, and I will find it again someday.
Whether you are a part of my something beautiful
is entirely up to you. Concern yourself with beauty.
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