Before we lost our sight, we found
beauty in beginnings,
answers in a low-slung moon
round as a summer peach,
faith in mornings veiled by rain,
clear as frosted glass,
and when the light grew dim, we dove,
deep into the lakes of our closed eyes,
slept, unseen, in canopies of leaves,
and, like leopards, we refused
to change our striking spots —
before the first twig snapped,
before the forests fell,
before truth was reviled, christened
obscene — boundless, we
made our wildest mistakes, indulging
in the innocence of our wrongs.
(c) 2020 by Hannah Six
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