• Sometimes I come here just to be a lost mariner
    but I am never lost:
    there are the snowflakes frozen to the porthole of a jewelry store,
    here is the treasure chest open to a single pearl
    laid on a velvet slab,
    there is the plashing of faces in the aisles
    and the row of lockers stuffed with the coats and hats of the drowned
    and it is night, and the moon rows over
    the gentle waters of the parking lot.

    Nancy Eimers (2006). “A Grammar to Waking: Poems”, Carnegie-Mellon University Press