I’ve dug deep to bring light to the surface
But am no shining example myself.
Natural beauty casts its spell over me
Like a kindred spirit, while each artifice
I make makes short-lived eternal, seemingly.
I’ve sought milk from stone and half
Of me has thought, What if I poured
Shadows through a sieve? Could I hoard
The flow and pattern of its coherence?
But true to life my nirvana eyed
Its reflection like a tiger of nonchalance,
And what I could behold (before it died),
I would, and did--immortal as a glance.
Botsford, Alan. A Book of Shadows. Katydid Books, 2003.
