In one thing only is it given us to be perfect,
we who were born the heirs of a world imperfect.

From the clay-choked throats of dead volcanoes
diamonds emerge crystalline, sparkling and perfect.

At the heart of every new and scarlet-burning rose
lurks the seed of decay, a hidden imperfection.

Deep space swallows furious newborn star-glows
into darkness infinite, unbreakable and perfect.

Each twisted conch is different and each knows
the math of the spiral, yet the growth is never perfect.

Spray from the falls prisms a double arc of rainbows
as close as the human eye comes to seeing perfection.

Spray from the falls jewels the double-arching rows
of my eyelids: Allah, I pray, make my surrender perfect.

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