I give you
the gasoline rainbow
glistening next to the
crumpled beer cans and
soggy strips of newspaper.
I give you
diamond shards of broken bottles
and the ruby ribbons
of spilled Cabernet
decorating the dirty gutter.
I give you
the tough greens growing
between the concrete’s cracks
and their golden yellow flowers
wilting in the heat.
Take what you like, or
ignore the gift.
There will always be more,
or less.
The blemished beauty of stubborn hope —
it is the rock dove
that has lost its name,
a feathered thing that sings,
somewhat,
and just the same.
Photo by Bruno Kelzer on Unsplash
