Appearance (2)

And, walking through a world of form,
I see all kinds of things:
The makings of a thunderstorm,
A butterfly’s flat wings;

The moss that clambers up a beech,
The ivy keeping low
And berries just beyond my reach
But not a coletit’s, though.

And yet I know this isn’t real;
It’s nothing but a veil
That wisdom draws back to reveal
A face both dark and pale.

And, where I look, I see the face,
Not here nor there, but every place.

Photo by Sebastian Unrau on Unsplash

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