Grace

Grace kisses her ladybug
with showmanship and delight.
Then she tosses it to the floor,
as if to say This is but a ragged thing.

I ask to hold it and Grace
gives me a cocked eye and holds it out
and takes it back at the last moment.
Then she gives it to whom asked not for it.

I look at Grace and I love her
because she is beautiful and fickle.
And I notice
just how close she still is
to her maker.