From my toes, a path stretches
Into chasms littered with plaster-cluttered pittance
And lands in simple revolution.
(The turn, I stress, not the evolution.)
We still stand in sitting
And still hope in betting
That every day will rise in fire
Of life's desire and forgetting.
Forgetting will come slow
But desire burns it to a subtle glow.
Your footsteps grace the path
And rake the leaves aside.
The path then leads to
Beauty: uncluttered, unfettered,