Pierrot and Columbine
The beautiful refuses to be seen
To care. It lingers everywhere and waits
For love’s attentions. In a morning scene
It hovers up above us and dictates
The terms of our devotion. Beauty does not
Concern itself with worship. Every praise
Will be ignored. No flattery or thought
Of veneration will minimally faze,
Or faze at all. The beauty we adore
Is cool like dawn horizons. Being wise
Or stupid makes no difference. You might soar
In reverence, but then beauty turns its eyes
Away. Loveliness levitates above
And leaves us dangling in our puppet love.