tilted— never quite resting
where the light intends
edge catching on stray hairs
like thoughts
that refuse to be tamed
a slip of brightness
sliding into my eyes blinding,
not blessing
I walk with it anyway—
crooked grace
clinking faintly in the wind
sometimes it spins
like a coin still deciding
which face to show the world
and sometimes
it is only shadow remembering
the gold it once held
.