Beauty doesn’t fade;
it changes. It creeps
from one side to the
next. It renews and
replies. It is dust
storm and table cloth
bleached in the sun.
It hates itself
and forgets itself.
There is beauty in
the way time manipulates
color and consistency, in
the way time crumbles and
chips. It does not vanish, nor
diminish; it resolves
and transforms. Beauty
will inherit the earth.