Crazy-quilt Sycamore tree,
One leaf, no longer perfect.
Yet the leaf shines with green,
Making oxygen for me,
And sweet sugar sap,
Flowing slowly into the tree.
The leaf scars show a beetle’s feast,
But those same imperfections
Are where the light shines through.

Note: I am often reminded of my own imperfections, my scars and my secret sins. I accept these things about myself as I accept them in the ones I love. I wrote once before about finding beauty in scars, a post called Beauty in the Broken Places. Today, Line and I were talking about imperfection and perfection being like two sides of a spinning coin, always rotating between the two.