Beauty Stalking
Some days when
you’re alone
beauty steals in
and stalks you.
Hunted by beauty,
you may arrive
at an edge like
the end of the
world and sharp
as the wire of
the guitar which
plays the beautiful
music, where you
balance, get cut
or from which
you suddenly fall.
In that precarious
place a sadness
called pain is
in all things,
but particularly
there in beauty.
It says, ‘All ends,
all is ending
and the joy you
thought was yours
may not only end
but end in misery.’
Not a day to die on.
No. Not a day to
lingeringly die on –
with beauty stalking.
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