Gold

the false-gold mirror doles out compliments
too eagerly to be believed by me.
i meander, not seeing what it meant,
away into quiet outdoors, dirty.

the air, heavy with anticipation,
watches puffy denim-blue clouds gather.
crickets play their grateful celebration
of natural cleansing…. pitter patter

on my bare body; on my naked soul
so exposed, so filthily guilty of
wearing a strange mask; only gilding gold.
my spirit smiles; i’m cleaned by rain’s love.