Here's to that

I’ve made my peace 

with most of the pretty things. 

I accept them now with shades of boredom,

though rarely jadedness. 

The jadedness flourished

only in those chasing days. 

 

But there’s a pretty thing 

still startling me:

the pretty girl. 

 

The pretty girl gets prettier.

The yearning grows,

the ache remains.

 

Time burrows through and finds 

the rocks

and dirt

and steel

and pipes

at the base of most of the

pretty things. 

 

But the pretty girl

gets prettier. 

 

It’s the start and end of revolutions. 

It’s how and why and where I

never reach enlightenment.

 

And here’s to that.

 

Here’s to the awe that lasts.