facets

(posting under yesterday's date)

she sits on dewdrops and blades of
grass and the shadow of an oak tree;
the rays of sun catch in her hair
like a diamond

and you believe that flies are
broken violins still singing

they fall then,
the leaves, and pass through
a rainbow arc of green
but
only brush a runaway strand of
her auburn hair

it pierces your eyes now;
burning copper disc of sun
and

you wonder of skin wrinkled from
staring at jewels
instead of
trying to shine.