Look how the weeds lay here, bent,
leaning, and yet catching the light just so.
The Yes creates such haphazard beauty,
unintended, yet inevitable, I suppose–
an expression of its nature, a variant of its song.
And look how it’s hidden, right here
in plain sight. You could walk by and think it
was no more than a tumble of weeds.
But I think it’s a gift, waiting for an artist’s eye,
or a lover’s.