Are You There?

The girl at the till counts to three.
There’s a key on the floor, a fish flying
in a far-northern pool, a picture she blinks with the click
of a mirror. Did she work on rhetoric with you? Did she show off
her teeth? There’s a walk in the park she’s keen to regret. Did she
tell you? A word is always out there looking
for words. And no — she doesn’t recall. What
boy?

The girl at the till lifts a feather out of her thoughts. She watches
the day turning inward: the rain like a false assumption,
the smoke like a bee in her throat. All those acres
of lights. There’s a moon playing catch
with a pond. A great bear disconnecting itself from a dot-to-dot
argument. She picks up a thought from the floor. Is this yours?
she asks the man playing guitar
on his phone.