flower poem 01

I went on a run through the rice paddies yesterday and picked these weeds from the side of the road. I had plans for them. to immortalize them between the pages of an old book, pin them on paper with rice glue, and keep them preserved for all of eternity. but when I got home, they wanted something different from me. they wanted to be seen.

and I said okay. I see you. I see your fleeting, brief life - which I cut short. maybe my own life, seen from the perspective of the billions of years of the universe, is no more lasting than these flowers, these weeds. our moments deserve to be made into poems.

will someone collect the pieces of me on a page, and lay them out, lovingly, to look at?

is that not what I’m doing now?

is that not all that art is?