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The trouble with beauty
is the clinging to it,
wanting things to stay
the way they first appeared
like the wildflowers
I picked fresh from the yard
and placed in a jamjar
of water on the table,
forced to watch each day
as pink crown vetch
shriveled and dropped away,
as Queen Anne’s lace
yellowed and dried out
like whole constellations
of white stars gone
supernova all at once.
How we want to arrest
each other too, the bodies
and faces of loved ones,
their skin once as soft
to the touch as the petals
of a daisy on the day
it first opened to the world.
Copyright 2023 James Crews
James Crews is the author of the essay collection, Kindness Will Save the World, and editor of the forthcoming The Wonder of Small Things: Poems of Peace & Renewal. A widely published poet, James lives with his husband in the woods of Southern Vermont.

A Bouquet of Queen Anne’s Lace (Source: Peonies and Posies)
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A lovely poem. Thank you, James.
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But there is always that nagging choice, to enjoy from afar or the fleeting pleasure of proximity which entails a more intimate lass.
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yes.
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What word did I mean? It is lost to lass, sigh.
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Loss
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Succinct.
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