Glitter Dust

The envelope, thick,

dropped through the slot

with a dull thud. Not

a bill. Too fancy, quick

to open. My name, then theirs,

a script I almost know.

A formal request, soft airs

of a life I watch now, slow.

And the glitter. Gold,

fine as dust motes in the sun,

left its mark. It's cold

today, and the work is done

for me, just wiped it off

the counter. A tiny, bright scar.

Not my path, no cough

or hitch. Just watching from afar.