Deep, deep down...
there is a faltering wish
I hold back from all the shooting stars...
that have befallen before my eyes.
The wish is...
for a long glimpse of perfection.
A very ironic taste now is lodged on a fork.
a thought floats through that taste.
How is perfection ever captured?
How do you know if something is perfect?
Perfection should hold nothing accountable.
is invisibility a form of perfection somehow?
the moment that intertwines
an aging afternoon and a young evening
might just be a step closer to an arm's reach...
For all the things we know,
the splatter of a penny in a whirlpool
"Perfection might equal the demise of all imperfections."