Broken green glass

She dances in wheat fields 
where the sun shines the brightest,
her brown hair nearly caramel in the light,
eyes sparkling, full of understanding,
her body moves with the freedom of the wind,
and the flowers she tramples over spring right back up
because she wears slippers woven from 
moss &
weeds &
all the small things that people don't appreciate,
but she notices. 
She is part of the universe,
a single star fallen from above,
& I wish
I had her understanding of the world.
Everything she touches becomes part of her
and her ivy dress,
her cobblestone bracelets,
her lavender lipstick,
the way rain will stop for her.
She is magic. 
The world would stop spinning
all so she could have those several minutes of pure bliss. 
But she knows 
she doesn't have all the time in the world,
there might as well be an alarm clock above her head
slowly ticking down
and those who watch her, 
some try to create more time,
​others just sit and watch in silence. 
As the time ticks down
her body moves
faster and more frantically.
She becomes a blur,
a part of the wind,
a part of the sky,
her feet blended into the grass,
her dress skimming the blades of grass,
throwing dewdrops everywhere, 
and when the time runs out,
when all the people have gone,
when she's standing still
panting,
there's no more sunlight,
no more color,
just simply 
wisps of secondhand smoke,
empty bottles of Coke,
the broken green glass
a final testimony 
to what we might have done,
what we could have become,
watching her
and her freedom.

We might've saved ourselves
from a self-fulfilling prophecy.