and feel myself fall as a stream of confetti
without the wondrous sense of ecstasy
I can see in the eyes of your child.
And in times like these, I pray
for a gentle soul to sweep me up
and speak of how I wept,
and see a glint in their own eyes.
For what's the point of confetti
If the warmth of laughter remains
absent from our hollows
without a smile to save?