I want what will be beautiful in ruin

whose skin, like wax, melts towards a core flame

whose pleasing balance cracks like a Kouros’

whose eye sockets are packed with black poultice

the tap tap of Oedipus’ gnarled stick

his daughter is not half so beautiful

the gods blushed grapes are not so beautiful

beneath flesh pulp find but three smooth seeds

sweet potential youth

I want beauty actualized

not in-spite-of

because of  time

the knotted root wrought in harsh soil

the scant juice prized aged