Book of Joys: Notation

A man walks by and we
notice his femur is a
cello. A woman with
bowed back carrying
a child made of stretched
sinew.

We look up to where the
birds perch in midair
and notice their wings
covered in keys,
the ravens and the doves.

There is our mother,
wheelchair-bound,
speechless after the
operation,
but her eyes
Bill Chase on the
trumpet.

Book of Joys: Liquidity

When highways unfurl it’s
always something like a smile
or joy at the ossified sounds
of engines, their constant
rumble:
you are smiling
behind the wheels,
your stomach dropping
to trail the disappearing
ground, humming
to the tune of tire and
asphalt:
she steps into stillness
and shuts the door
on another world:
they are liquid in passing,
flowing above, under,
around the
world.