Location, location, location

You Are Here, says the sign, & a red arrow indicates a dot. This is the familiar dot from the letter i, from the hole in the paper where the compass pirouetted, from the spots on your retina where the sun returned your gaze. The arrow never quite touches it — not because it’s too small or too far away, but because it’s too likely to spill. You are here… & you, & you, & you, & you, & you: the possibilites are both endless & predictable. It’s a whole note, freed from the five-line staff to sing its monotone song of yourself for as long as you’ll listen, thinking it’s just you, thinking you’re all alone on this head of a pin.