Categories
Poetry

Beauty, beheld


On the way home, heaven lover
you’ll encounter a juvenile flower
do not hold it, for it will crumble
just behold it
and it will double.
Next thing you know a field will grow
repeating mirror images ablossom,
infinite beauty, sown in the abyss
of your deceasing eyes.

By the.vonz.himanen

Ivan Himanen is an architect, urbanist, and researcher based in New York City.

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