Threads of colour, spun to infinity
by a master of the secret art.
His wizardry creates a tangled tapestry
spinning in a whirlpool of glass.
But beeding from the margin a quieter universe exists,
of golden iridescence sparkling in the light.
The notice says this is the celebration,
(the golden sorcery his signature).
But my eyes inherit...
the shy dusting of his joy.