I shield my eyes as I watch it soar in the sky
I see its actions as it behaves before me
I observe it closely as I hold it in my hands.
I feel it deep, warm in my heart
I sense its presence, solid and enduring
I hear its sound, its timbre all the way in my bones
It is like a precious stone.
Does that mean I am to cherish it?
Polish it and watch it glow in the dark?
Treat it like there’s nothing else like it?
Preserve, protect, and nurture it?
Secure it against the advances of the plunderers?
I hear it covers a multitude of wrongs.
Could that possibly mean that my flaws and mistakes
will find protection at last,
from the pointing fingers of the accuser?
Some much-needed respite,
from the magnifying glass of the ungracious?