at the mall

a young man sits beside my table
          in food court, without ordering
          just twirling & examining his 
hands, as if he is reading
          private letter, sacred
          to himself
          while everyone else eyes are glued 
          to their phones

i think of delicate glass
          bubbling underneath
i think of colors swirling on canvas
          as his hands clasp, unclasp & fall
raindrops
on sea of screens & french 
           fries & plastic 
           cups

he leaves quietly
          nonchalantly, one last look
          (before disappearing with the rolling crowd)
eyes       
          of lost bird



Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - OpenLinkNight - Thanks for the visit.