Beauty

Fitful and momentary thing
We trace it to the shadows
Blue veined, curtained light
How far we had let a sun in.

It is two pigtails ding dong
On a girl back doing school,
A checked shirt in a tracery
The eyes shifting in space.

Evening trees agitate wind
By road, its dusty footprints
Left momentarily on leaves
A rustle lost to creepy night.

Language is beauty tracing
Remembering fitful shades
Re-tracing an old silk route
In fossilised beauty trinkets.

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