I don’t find it in the loud ones

or those who know they are beautiful

and radiate like magnolias, balancing on

their fat glossy leaf

I don’t find it in the gregarious

on stage damp with sweat and singing

like they swallowed the world

I walk away from the party, under unkempt honeysuckle

trail scent into chimera dusk

where unseen obsidian birds coo from invisible fortress

night opening her accordion skirts wide and bidden

like a grand entertainer with no need for language

you share more with this bruised ripening world

with your carefully embroidered sorrow

and your kind half mended heart

an imperfect radiance

it is your quiet and your humility

the way you do not seek attention

but might say to me as we sit together in fading evening

oh there goes a ghost moth, did you see it?

Did you? With your honey comb voice

that always reminds me of

listening to stories as a child

without the need for any light

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