I touched an oak twig and stone
One day to see them turn to gold.
The curse, this Midas touch
However was not new.
Everything throughout my life –
Had become a statue in some way.
The emptiness of gold
Was evident in all relationships.
My hands touched friends, romantic interests
And they went away.
My family I embraced but
To have them disappear.
Their gilded shines remained, of course
In memories as if they were the twig and stone –
But that is all they are,
All they are.