Incapable Beauty
The best thing that the poet pointed out
Is that wise roses never know that all
Are shriveling, young. The flowers never pout
In sympathy with us. They never brawl
With gods for us, to spare us from some fate
We do not know awaits us. This is since
Divinities are helpless faced with hate
From deep implacabilities. Gods wince
Away from harder things like death which they
Are not required to deal with in themselves,
These figments from imaginations. Pray,
But they are only idols held on shelves.
White lotuses spill wide but cannot care
In innocence about pure Buddha’s prayer.
~ Phillip Whidden