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Making Perfect Sense

with thanks to Pan

I see beauty everywhere

in old faces 

grown gentle or embittered

with storied lines

around the mouth

deepset eyes look out

on the bones of the earth

basalt dozing titans

apt to awaken momentarily

to quake leaves from tresses

tangled in turning over

I hear beauty

in flavours composed from memory

reconstructing a place 

where complex music once played

and again, am really there

I smelt beauty

in ionised air

plinking into still water

even in ugly concrete canyons

under exhausted grey skies 

shot with Flemish light

stooping to touch and gather

empty kicked cans

skied 'round the hydrants

when the game was done

surprising construction

psychedelic witches sinking in asphalt

and felt newness breaching

up like whales

in between the sidewalk cracks

primary colours layered

drawing bright preschool chalks

volunteers show promise

in nearly every garden

yellow beggars in the crabgrass

I taste beauty

in purple cassis sorbet scattered

on the hissing of summer lawns

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