What he saw was a weathered ruin,
-and he saw beauty. The lines, the stories,
the cracks letting in light.
She was well-worn, had been used
and was tired of thinking
about which foot to put forward,
sort of missing the point (if there is one).
She felt like a whale gliding through
a thick fog over a fallow field, mixing
metaphors like nobody’s business,
just to remind herself she was alive.
He saw and dismissed her fears
as inconsequential as rain,
knowing rain in torrents can bring
ruin but also life to a desert.
The Word Rummager 
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