The leaves on my deck make me think.

Like bugs we crawl for the cracks.
Exposed by the light, we seek comfort in darkness.
Beneath mottled leaves and dusty cobwebs,
We don’t know beauty;
We don’t seek it out.
But through a larva eaten hole
brilliance seeps in.
And when our darkness is illuminated,
perhaps we see it for what it is:
An old pile of all that will decay.