we are all making sounds

Remember the Nokia blackbirds!

When they would sing those numbers

as you walked home carrying your magazines,

numbers bursting like glossy fruit on the pavement.

And you would press into your plastic pearls 

to make a new song, Dit-du-dit! Dit-du-dit!

Catching numbers like starry charms

to bracelet under your schoolgirl sleeve.

This year everything is holographic — 

anxious rivers with the complex air of

adults. There are shadows in these opals,
not to catch, not to hold, not to covet.