Sense of beauty

I went to Powell’s bookstore and looked at zines.
I found it a waste of paper. None were inspiring.

There was no sense of beauty. No poetry. No sense
of breathing space. No sense of a Japanese garden

in the rain. No sense of yellow leaves wet on the
pavement. No sense of mist coming to settle on the

trees. I look and look for inspiration in a little book.
There is no sense of beauty. I think. I must create my

own little zine of poetry. But what would I say? Maybe
I could s l o w l y d r e a m o n p a p e r . . .