Connect the Dots

She asked, What's on your mind?

Mine's really not a mind on which I rest things. It's a sieve, it's an inlet, things fall through or they get swept up in the current. I stand at the edge and reach for thoughts, I grasp.

Wait, I think, that's what I can say. That's exactly what she wants to know.

It's a sieve, I say, an inlet. Things fall through, they get swept up in the current, they don't rest long enough to be in any one place for very long. I connect the dots too quickly. It's A and then it's Z before I know it.

We locked eyes and we stopped breathing. How often do you think that, she said. How often do you think about your thoughts.

That rested. She curled up next to me. Probably too much.