Lost bottle,
orphan bottle,
out-of-place bottle,
on-its-side bottle.
We are the same—
two glass sylphs,
mute and strange.

Down on hands and knees,
I squint through your long green
neck to inner flotsam—
seeds, dirt, a drowned
cigarette butt, two squirming slugs,
and something shiny—
a penny, a button, a pearl?

Time spent in close attention—
stories spun, a verse or two.
Till legs cramp, soaked in mud.

I set you upright,
mouth filled with song.
Heading home, my glass heart
grows lush once more,
rescued by curiosity.