Faces

The outward precious

Stone that cuts glass

Shatters mirrors

And sees right through you

Found on never

Walks through grounds

On coffee, on voices

Spoken for tomorrows and yesterdays

Voices I can

Actually taste

Sounds that

Actually appear

A stone with

Flaws more valuable

With every passing glance

Bubbles of perfection

Worn on hands

Of church and steeples

Weaving tapestries

Colors of every wall we live