Treasure

Treasure in heaven?  Rather, the fleeting kind—

the exchanged smile, the small kindness (so small

it couldn’t be remembered), joke in a queue

(a shared short laugh)—anything will do

that dies quickly but has gleamed first (star-fall).

I like to lay up my harvest in the wind.

Smug, you forget the other crop (tare

in the wheat)—careless insensitive unkindness,

small but so painful it cannot be forgotten

by either party.  “It wasn’t meant”’s a rotten

excuse, doesn’t excuse.  Spiritual blindness

is fault not affliction.  What have I laid up?  Where?