sculpture hands
it doesn’t take much
a smile
a curiosity
a gentle pressing into what’s hidden 
to find
between the clown
and the grieving woman
as if it were a choice
between one
the other
as if sacrifice and pleasure
sat at different poles
we watch the sculpter’s
almost bleeding
the form emerges
dry and cracked
still scraping
and whittling
If there had been an easy
way out,
don’t kid yourself,
you probably wouldn’t have taken it
life is interposed 
the thistle and the butterfly 
in the pavement crack 
and no less
beautiful and perfect
for it
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2 Responses to Interposed

  1. Laura says:

    I love the last stanza… Hope you’re doing well.

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