What is left of the leaves on the trees
is a soup of light, a frisson of color.
It is their damage that is beautiful.

I look at myself in the mirror,
time’s damage present in all seasons,
and wonder when I will see it as beauty.

Sheryl St. Germain
from her book The Journal of Scheherazade
University of North Texas Press (1996)
used with permission of the poet

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