And the picture had a caption, and the caption read:
You belong with the wildflowers,
Yet, in my slightly twisted mind, cynically bent- I think:
Does that mean he thinks I should get buried?
Naw. Just a phase, I tell myself, just a phase.
Look at the colors and tell me beauty is beyond
the conceptions or contrivances of words.
Unless it’s a song about love or a poem about death
Or a picture by the cavepeople who made due
With the daily genius of survival
The fire was a greeting place, consume the hunt, poke a child
With a friendly stick
The caption of the cave picture read
Nothing is dead
Even if you are unable see it.