Glitter

It looked to me
like there was glitter on

the moon.

So I raised my head,

and as I blinked it in,

the glitter began to settle on my skin.

Glitter, glitter:

now anywhere I go,

it has a way of reminding me

of the things that I now know.

Silk or satin,

tears or sighs:

these are only the

beauties 

that permeate

the contrivances of

hellos and goodbyes.

But just a touch of glitter

outlives the breezes from the west,

as it haunts the whisperings
spoken to me by all the rest.

Its echo still hums as if

resounding from today,

because it has a way of speaking,

without having to say.

It floats above,

it can't just trail behind

as if

it was deeper than skin, 
that it did bind.
-J.L.