The Rarity of Recognition

A wounded animal retreats to the scrub, where anything worth saving lives. It licks wounds inflicted by a wicked wind whipped world. Filled with big stone faces unsmiling. The wounded animal re-emerges with a perfected limp. One eye missing, the one that viewed the cruelties. Fur matted by fingerprints, uncaring. Hunger and anger are its only remaining God. In time, everything transforms. The rotten freshens. Eye sockets fill with colored stones. Ugly will beatify. The angry limp becomes an exotic floating blossom. That only exiled Buddhas and black cherubs dare recognize.