How beautiful must it be
To hold your seeds on the outside
Like a strawberry does
To be blue eyed. To have a blue note about you.
How beautiful is the full moon
To show all her craters to every moon-gazer
To rest calm on her sky pedestal
And how beautiful is the child in each one of us
Waiting for a stage to come on
How stupid are the painted masks we wear.
Yet how healing are the turpentine tears
We shed, when no one is about.