Pop

The first time she heard his voice

a bubble of champagne

caught in her throat like news of death

blooming darkly through the wire it fell

visceral as a bat’s night wings

sudden against sky

every string appeared to play

bass collapsed in fragments

of pitch and timbre

she curled into its character

no longer aware of street noise

in temporary search of destination.

A Bell Tower Speaks

Sky interrupted

birds fly from tiny chipped spaces

hollow bones turn flute

notes high and breathy

below the dirty snow melts

into dirtier puddles

a small boy jumps –

his red rubber boots

distort reflections

birds turn pinwheels

on the street corners

familiar curbs reveal their crumble

as winter erodes into liquid spring

a stranger smiles at nothing in particular

she grins too, orange coat open

as if to welcome anything other

than last year’s white

There is Nothing New Under the Kitchen Sink

Distracted, she stirs the kitchen with a spoon

Far, Far Away

She sat cross-legged

on the moon

waiting for answers

Moon stayed silent

ladled stars

into galaxies