We think we expose ourselves, 

flaunting our nakedness with careless braggidagio.

We don’t.

We offer the skin as camouflage, 

a distraction from the real business at hand,  

the exposing of the glitter within

that we imagine to be soiled.

It is.

But so is moss and a freshly laid egg

 and a child set free in the woods.

Life is soiled, and this is its perfection, 

for it does not tarry on dark or light, 

but holds the two together in harmony

and blesses the offspring in all shades of gray.