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