leaves tanlged into strands of twisting wind
and you see sunsets, dirt-turned-gold
destruction gilded, glittered, gone
we are all and we soon return.
broken wood sits like a splintered crown
atop a turned head; I trust in things blinded and I trust in you.
and what a beautiful you: molded by gusts of feeling and rays of light
shifting, turning, changing, being amidst those static slips.
endure for us when we have wilted
when we've forgotten, tell us of our shape.