You see reflective light on rippling waters;
for me, it’s fairies trailing silver dust
across the topaz bay. These eager daughters
maintain traditions mother sprites entrust.
Each afternoon they leave their forest glen
and play on golden shores awash in light
that warms their sun-kissed cheeks. Two fishermen
admit they’ve seen these pixies flit in fright
whenever any mortal ventures near
the secret stash, where fairy dust is kept
in vials of sun-dried droplets of each tear
collected every time an angel wept.
But who believes what fishermen might say
about those sparkles sprinkled on the bay.
Also featured in Abandon the Shadows, a Poets Collective Anthology