Found in a poem in a book in a stack in a corner in my room:
"What homage will be paid to a beauty built to last/from inside out, executing the blueprints of resistance and mercy/drawn up in childhood, in that little girl, round-faced with/clenched fists, already acquainted with mourning/in the creased snapshot you gave me? What homage will be/paid to beauty/that insists on speaking truth, knows the two are not always the/same,/beauty that won't deny, is itself an eye, will not rest under/contemplation?"
--From XII, Adrienne Rich, in An Atlas of the Difficult World
It's a good question, that. What am I doing as my homage to the beauty that feeds me?
The beauty that is women and men, students and strangers, flowers in tiers on street-side storefronts, sunrise, and God? What homage this Lent, what homage?