I meet a hero.
She gives me an 8
to use as a boomerang.
Before he comes back to me,
a spinning jenny hovers forever
beside the hummingbird I trust most.
I try optimism
on for size.
A little tight
around the neck
and across the shoulders.
I shrug off the glitter
from its inner lining
and return to these
exercises in euphoric recall.
Memorizing the Atlantic Ocean pays off
when everything comes back
in a rhythm
only the moon
could invent.