Wabi Sabi

By Neil Flatman 

For Matthew

Wearing-in mourning’s lackluster suit, I took
a walk: heather, like toffee-brittle Christmas

trees, the copper edge of curling gorse
illuminating the way. You should’ve been here

a week ago. You said the Japanese had a phrase for it;
Beauty in the contrasts of decline? I saw that

goth girl on her morning walk:          all pale
skin and thistle lips, and                      the sky
hauling heavy goods, each cloud      a bruise

racing to get anyplace that isn’t here—as though
from up there the world’s just another small town

where time’s the dream you want to wake from.
Stay with me. Linger just a little while; careless

through the market stalls—the way you have
to touch the clothes and steal the fruit.

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This story originally appeared in Stonecoast Review Issue 18.

Photo by Anandu Vinod.