Upon seeing you rise to leave

The stone is not the beauty of the sculpture
nor the bronze, nor the clay.
The beauty of the sculpture is the defiance
of balance and of space
                                    of mass and of time
forever stealing from gravity's pull, even
while suspended within it.

The resonance is not the beauty of the voice
nor the lilting tongue, nor the breath.
The beauty of the voice is the confidence
of tone and of self
                            of volume and of rhythm
fleetingly giving flight to breath, even
while taking it away.

The image is not the beauty of the photograph
nor the composition, nor the starkness.
The beauty of the photo is the arrogance
of light and of darkness
                                   of heartbreak and of longing
capturing an impossible moment together, even
for a lifetime of lonely viewing.

The words are not the beauty of the poem
nor the symbol, nor the rhyme.
The beauty of the poem is the honesty
of urgency and of captured time
                                               of nakedness and of truth
roughly showing you a bleeding draft, even
as you say "good night."

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