a thought on our beauty.

by Michael King

Some mornings, I’ll stand
bare feet, hair in tangles

and I’ll survey myself
in the mirror
a twenty-something,
blue boxer briefs,
and, for a flash,
I’ll see it, the
kindness of my eyes
ridged jaw, broad shoulders,
legs carved by miles,
and I’ll believe in it,
my beauty.

How terrible the rarity
that we actually see