“We don’t see things as they are, we see them as we are.” — Anaïs Nin

A young swan´s gilded glare gives even Tartarus light,

as dark plays bright

under innocence unbroken;

one pauses to smell the roses despite one´s suspension.

To the crooked badger brooding beneath the tree´s thick, gnarled roots,

wrapped in the all-encompassing shade,

a floral picture

is a view untrustworthy.

A painted petal slowly falling

hints at new beginnings and rebirth to one.

To another,

death and loss are inevitable.

08.17.2024.