Your eyes flicker a promise of passion
Like a coin flipped end over end
Delicately balanced between thumb and forefinger,
Reflecting the light of the world.

But once grasped it goes dark.
All that the hand can hold
Is cold, heavy, and worthless.

When I see a penny I pick it up,
Attracted by its gleam,
And I flip it over and over,
Never gripping it,
Giving it away at the first opportunity
To free myself of its burden.

Copyright © 1997 wendi loomis The Seasons Change