I found a bud,
among nothing but grass
in my garden mud,
which has not been tended as
it should.
But to pass
and awe in this flower’s beauty
is the sentient’s only duty:

to stop and to admire
as we do
with a house on fire;
and you
who bring my being to a place higher
than anywhere a thought can to –
but still you are a notion,
a sight with which my mind is in motion:

a controlled
chaos, that causes
speech slowed,
implausibly placed words, and losses
of thought. I mowed
the grasses
where I found the budding flower,
and no longer think of beauty’s deep power.