The Sacred

When you win a heart, you win
a faith. O let my fingertips
know a stone from flesh!

There is no abyss, the ground
is flat and honest; the weed
allowed to flourish. I've loved

you like a socket in the soil
demanding less than roses.

Everything is sacred when
its tragic. The butterfly
who cannot tell the difference

from fresh or dying flowers,
the spider who creates a masterpiece
of silver ruined by flies, a bird

whose feathers are destoyed by
fire trembling in the boughs.

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