"..to be wild and perfect for a moment.."
- Mary Oliver

Before words, perfection dwells ubiquitous
as spores on the wind, roiling over
and into each molecule and moment.
This little planet has emerged out of miracles five billion years.
Chaos hones its lineage of mud and sun.

Before words, every kaleidescoping morsel of matter
enters in beauty right here, right now
heartbreaking as an autumn morning, cocooned
in a worship of mother to freshly born. Perfection is
tragedy, perfection is harmony, perfection is lost and found.

Before words, balance spans ebb and flow, underpinning
what stumbles, what stands. Perfection fills a moment
and moves on. Bloodhounding its trail, tongues wag
and follow ever vigilant; stretching cheeks and cerebrum
reaching, reaching - never quite here.


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