on my line and cast them out
two at a time? Some swim
around them. Some stop
in their harried day to take a breath

and catch a glitter in the
corner of their eye. Wipe the glitter,
as if it a speck of dust that swept up
in a wave. But can they stop to take

a bite? Plucking my shiny notes as
apples off a tree, the juices running a marathon
in their teeth. Or cutting them up into pieces
for the pie, making them all the same size.