Lift us up, flitting fingers, rough palms, tight grip.
Too close, too fast, too hot, too high.
“You’re safe, you’re safe, you’re safe,
You’re gilded now.”

Patching black holes with a light too thin to hold.
As if brightness alone could mend.
Seams itch.
Stitches pull.
Who asked for stitches?

“Who did this to you?
It’s awful, it’s tragic, it’s cruel.”
Smoothing the fraying edges,
loose ends out of sight,
gold leaf against the cracks,
as if that were ever the shape of us.