For Tracey

What else is there but belief like this.

She wore a fallen star around her neck, plucked
from the sky it was one arm short of magic. But still the magic
worked for him, and every time she called in and bought the usual

he recognised her enough to gift her orange. It took a while
but soon she realised the star had caught his eye, would feel
his gaze on it every time she glanced to her purse and the warmth

of recognition on his face. She nearly told him once
that it was only fallen as a marketing ploy she'd fallen for;
that the point had broken and she'd got it seconds-cheap.

The warmth in his face, though, was enough to leave it there; a smile
between their eyes and a star to hold onto on days like that,
when words are too much, and everything you touch is cold as space.