She is made of all things gold

not jewels or metals
or trinkets and desires– no.
She is made of all things gold
all things that shine
of glass circumstance
and desperate foil–
she is made of all things

gold and grand and dark
like human hearts.
All things gold, all things
left to wait and tarnish
valued by butterflies
as they land gently upon
edges of broken promises.

All things good may never pray
but all things gold are made
of these moments, made of
tears and laughter
and flooding sunlight.
She is made with all things gold

not because she knows
but because she loves
and cries and says she’s okay
when truly, truly–
she isn’t.
She is made of all things gold
even when the gold is faded.
Even when the gold
was never really gold
to begin with.

She is made of all things brilliant.
She is made of all things gold.