There is something magical
about light, you said, as you observed
hundreds of rainbow-colored lights
refract from your diamond ring
against a glass of sparkling water.
I wanted you to observe the man
in the red jacket, sitting on a boulder
across the waterfall. You were more interested
in the crow perched on the river birch as
its sheen black feathers quaffed the light.
On my side, there is a sloping sword
laying across the pages of my notebook.
I touched the tip. No blood. I wondered
whose hands held this gold-layered fountain
pen as I rotated it against the sunlight.