Light Hearting the Bauble
Fallen to the frail
inside eggshells
tap tap tap
with a stream of liquid life
ebbing brightly
shining down the drain
dried to paper width
and still held round in palms
lighter than a baby bird
and more fragile.
In time, this marvel
will be painted opaque pearl.
A hollow will be made
a hinge
a door
delicately cut with precision
ornate white velvet will cushion
the inner chamber
lining the lack of life
with falsity and vanity.
Gilded gold legs bowed
and a metallic spherical point
on the top of the orb
and we see.
There is the nesting place
of our dreams.
Faberge holds no flame to our Creator
with clumsy fingers yet wrought
with a perfection deemed so
by imperfect eyes.
While we can dress an egg in style
we cannot reproduce the life
once inside
and we cannot begin to understand
the simplest wonders once
hidden from our eyes
inside the paper shell.
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