The Shattering

Purer,
and more beautiful,
than gold --
this light that pours through us
as we prepare to die;
shedding
(at the moment
of greatest glory)
all of our accumulated jewels
in one last attempt
to avoid the inevitable:
take this, I ask,
and this,
please --
dripping jewels into your hand
(as if death were a mugger,
easily bribed)

Walking through some radiant forest
I'm stuffing sunlight in my pockets
hoping to preserve the memory
of that bright flame
only to find
on emptying again
the crumbled, crisp remains
of what was once
so true
shattered in my hand.