A SMATTERING OF SEQUINS

A SMATTERING OF SEQUINS
Lisa Pellegrini

We grazed in circles all day,
a chameleon’s search for
miniature discs saturated in

aurora borealis.
The night hissed but yielded
with empathetic groans—

guilt by espionage via crystals,
constellations, and cowards.
They lurk in dusk’s underbelly,

enfolded in grassy crepes
that hide my unnecessary truth.  
It changes shape and color

depending on the
time of day or night.
I catch it in my palm,

but its oily limbs escape
like an indignant frog
that dwells in parody.  

©2012 This work is the property of the author.