Kind of Beautiful

I want to feel the kind of beautiful

The vines on a century home feel.

So infused into the brick,

Their removal would crumble cement,

Break steel.

An infestation of brightening foliage

On rusted coil and cinderblocks.

The kind of beauty that

Makes weeping willows weep,

Butterflies flutter.

I want to feel the kind of beautiful

That wills the grass to revive,

Every time it dies.

To survive the darkening winter,

With no fear of eternity.

I want to feel the kind of beautiful

That goes beyond eye colour.

The way the sky feels,

When it looks down on the ocean,

Fed by its reflection.

The way the flowers feel,

When they bloom in graveyards.

The way the clouds feel,

When they cry.

I want to feel the kind of beautiful

That is measured in heartbeats

And raindrops

And cracked leaves

And expanding ice.

I want to feel the kind of beautiful

The trees feel on the first day of spring.

The way the vines feel,

When they hold on tight,

Permitted to grow out.