dusty trinkets

Sending you little mental tokens,
hoping that someday I can
cradle you in my palm,
nestle you in my pocket,
seal you in a cabinet,
among the porcelain dreams
I’ve gathered and kept
resting on my dresser.

My fingers brush dust
that lingers on each one,
blanketing clinking wishes
in glass jars filled with petals
and stones—lit candle heartbeats,

a fragile relic of what’s to come—

You held in the contours
of my thumbprint.

If only I could hide you
among the other trinkets
adorning the fringes—

like the angel figurine,
with it's broken wing,
watching from my night stand.