Deep, deep down...
I'll admit
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.
Quietly vivid,...
a thought floats through that taste.
How is perfection ever captured?
How do you know if something is perfect?
Perfection should hold nothing accountable.
So, now,...
is invisibility a form of perfection somehow?
If anything,
the moment that intertwines
an aging afternoon and a young evening
might just be a step closer to an arm's reach...
towards perfection.
For all the things we know,
the splatter of a penny in a whirlpool
may spell
out
"Perfection might equal the demise of all imperfections."
I think it would trouble me to have a glimpse of perfection. To see perfection would be to see the utmost, what can never be better or bettered. And it's nice to think that there's always possible improvement in anything and anyone -- that no matter how good every thing is in the now, there could always be better times ahead.
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