08/29: go giddy-gay
Each time I want to forsake the rhythm
you break out for my sake the sacred beat,
shackle my ankles to his feet, his hum
about her plummy hum, most times a feat
of resurrection. She beats down the silk-
collapsing windows, vinegars with tongue
the corners, slick glass meets softening sill.
She sits and drinks straight citrus, home among
the flitter bees and the Siberians.
The lemon-air makes her go debonair,
makes her go lollipop, go giddy-gay —
she does the polka, dotting everywhere,
she does the lindy hop, she learns to sway
to rhythms that are not her own, at all,
and sally forth when she would rather stall.