I kept collecting little pieces of shells
The muddy white sand had many.
Two handfuls of them,
Until I couldn’t hold any more.
My happiness beating through the gripped dead shells
I threw them up as much as I could.
They flew up,
They scattered into the sky.
Rainbow dotted crystals.
They didn’t burst into those patterns of engineered lights.
They fell on the ground.
The noise was sweet.
I had a thousand ears to perceive and acknowledge each of them.
Some falling on soft leaves,
And some on rocks to bounce again,
And some on me.
I started collecting them again.
They didn’t make the sound and light that everybody loves,
Perhaps because they were not bought with money.