Mall

A single shaft of sunlight
infiltrated the mall's high window, violating
the perfect sameness
of tile floors, evenly-spaced chandeliers,
copper pots with plants
whose stems sprouted seven leaves apiece. The girl wondered,

an unauthorized wonder born not from books or screens
but from the feel of an ant's tiny leg crushed one day
beneath her questing fingers, whether God

is truly a system. As the sun

broke up the air into tiny particles and paled
the mall's even light, shining glassy-faced on Mercury's Slippers,
bleaching life from the grinning face and silencing

the voice of the saxophone soloist whose idea
of rhythm was to play the same scale
more quaveringly each time, the girl's breath stirred
within her. She knew she was only a slave as long as
as long as

as long as she was a slave, and words
failed her.