we say
that “nothing lasts,”
and we’re too old to ask
why gold can’t stay past
sunrise

we get
by folded, passed,
and sold en masse,
kept cold and
advertised

we choose
to mold and mask
ourselves solely after
the soulless laughs
that leave us

it’s true
that holding fast
is bold, but glass
breaks wholly grasped
when heedless

with hearts left
swollen, gashed
from a scroll-on-past
control mastered
with age

we chase
a goal of basking
in rolling grasses
where something gold
can stay