You rattle off your list of sundries
then groceries, while I fall into the motion
of silence - letting my gaze do the talk
of surveying the mall after purveying you.
Perhaps you are blessed with a silver
tongue or the charm to conjure every
passerby's attention to you with the spell
of soft gaze. I do not know. Your long gown
brushes the ground and I suppress a tender
tendency to remind you of dropped things:
apples; a dollar that's escaped the folds
of pockets; a lost key whose soft clink
drowned out the volume of voices; my gaze
dropped at the floor as if pursuing
lost buttons
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