how do you measure beauty?
or begin to grade grace?
how do you tell your palpitating soul,
to be still when it sees her face?
her lovely doe eyes,
her soft, subtle grin,
her features get lost in translation,
her one word to keep in.
and anything she does,
anything at all,
is poetry in motion,
like sunshine in fall.
but she isn’t there anymore –
and there’s an ache in my heart,
how does one breathe without air?
or live in a world without art?