Her hands cupped together at her breast, her head bowed,
while the wind lifts her curls to the sun. Of course not.
She's shielding the screen of her cell phone. Such reverence
no modest girl would ever show the street.
Still, her thumbs work prayerfully
telling the beads of her keyboard over, and over,
what she has said before but as it seems to her
no one, no one ever really really hears.