I am a canvas where a paint brush dances
leaving me mottled in glittery gold
whenever the sun and I exchange glances.
No two brushstrokes alike I am told.
I am the last autumnal breath,
bursts of amber, marigold, rust.
I know there is beauty in death,
smoldering embers turn into dust.
I am a constellation that is shifting.
Connect-the-dots and read my story.
I am untethered and drifting
in speckled and freckled glory!
I am bejeweled by the sun,
embedded with citrine and tiger’s eye.
I am a masterpiece not nearly finished
If I keep the light close by.