You grabbed my wrist to draw in the air,

connecting five stars with my fingertip.

 

That’s your sign and in the Chinese zodiac,

a ghost riding in a flying carriage.

 

We’d drawn an upside-down Y

or the Chinese word for man (人);

 

but something broke through his legs,

then the frames of our glasses.

 

You made us make a wish and I was

staring at your mole the whole time.

 

Now we talk about prospects as we go down

the stairs until Caution: Slippery floor.

 

I grab the handrail, my hands sweaty.