This is a perfect world
A world that although not perfectly round,
although it seemingly wobbles like a top in its uneasiness and discontent with its occasional imbalances,
is perfect in its imperfections.

Even as flames engulf the garden,
licking the delicious fruits from their hammocks in the trees, as it warms the roots and threatens to reveal the secrets to the breathe thy hear about but never experience,
even as they send shivers down the spine of a trunk that has traveled to divine love and back,
without moving a twig, there is a subtleness to her fury.

A gentleness in touch and embrace.
A love that stems from eliminating certain pathways to enlighten the next.
Gratitude can be destructions nickname when the ruins eventually come of age.

And they do, they must.
We rely on it.
We sit in our stadium seats and look on at others on the grounds, in the middle of it all.

But they see us just as we see them.
Connection, mirrors of light reflecting,
to discourage the neglecting.
We remain focused on the tragedies.
surrounding,
despite the distractions of the material it’s astounding!

I saw her beauty, her red flowered love
mirrored in the eyes of fear
then showered in compassion from above

in the waves, in the fury
on the sands, in between the clenched teeth,
and knuckles pulled tight in hand

Stars aligned with nothing else to say
breathe in, hold, breathe out, stay
in this moment as gratitude’s chord resonates

More at: Roots Poetry