The Groom

My neck turns
and in the corner of my eye his image flickers
like a gold coin
found in a bushel of reeds.
Do I pick it up?
Place it in my pocket for some bread?
Or perhaps a better use might be
for luck.
But alas, as I reach down
my fingers scrape the surface
and the gold turns to tarnish.

I will keep it anyway
for luck
for all gold fades
and it must have been luck to see it in its glory.