beauty is not for the faint of heart,
the wandering eye
because beauty is crumbs on the floor
it’s a tiny white moth on your fingertip
a lemon mint leaf on Sunday morning
it’s a mess that’s never completely clean
beauty is our catch-alls and junk drawers
our bookshelves, our blemishes
beauty is green pond scum and steady raindrops
a sky half blue and half grey 
beauty is ash and embers
and warm Wild Turkey in a flask 
it’s singing along to songs we half know
beauty is so big that it must be small
visible in fragments, in the unexpected
or the often ignored
beauty is both bold and humble
beheld and deeply hidden
a secret we can all come to know