Orb

The arcade light looks like
a bulbous moon
reflecting in the windows
of our blooming worlds.

Antonia, reading, behind the register,
is turned to a swooning
lover, drifting, dreamily,
upon a lagoon.

Denham, the crooning master
of some lunatic
ceremony.

And me, beneath that
orb-like balloon,
I am the scribe of its dictated
testimony.