Some bounce off the water or snow,
blinding us as we drive or sail.
Some burn our retinas
if we look directly at them.
Some hit the mist in the meadow
at just the right angle, a sharp white
sheet against the glade.
Some dazzle us with rhinestones
in the spotlight, then disappoint us
when the lights go out.
Some are mirrors, reflecting
what we want to see
and not what we are.
Some are whitened smiles
on faces purged of wrinkles,
lips puffed beyond the natural.
Some are collected by birds
because they are shiny,
and before the dumb things know it,
they have built a nest of lies.