Walk along the city streets
butterscotch sky
sun-shower
bittersweet

There on the curbside sits an old painting

A Ballerina

lying with the rest of the trash
waiting to be picked up

The drizzle drains the color from the canvas but not
the natural light from the dancer
who
in all the noise and distortion
forgot her steps
along the way

-  when reflecting
on the soul in the mirror
and what she has given
I thought,
beauty
is not about how we look
it's
about how we are