than a shoestring. And tighter
than a clothespin. It’s distant
as the galaxies. And real as
make-believe. It’s elusive

as a butterfly. It landed on me
once. But I blinked and missed
it. And the crumbs it left swept
up by dancing in the wind. But it tinged

me with marigold. So, I’m
I'm bright. But I’m not too
old. I move too fast for it to sit. I’ll lay
still on the next visit.