in the café
the novelist reads from her work
accompanied
by a cello
the crowd ducks
as she throws pistachios
puts on her black coat
red shoes
and blindfolded
steps into snow
she tramps thus
through our minds
behind white windows
her flags
semaphore bright primaries
flutter baby talk
we suck
foam lattés
while the novelist
forgets
she's
naked in a mirror
pretending to be
read