a student saxophone on the air
keeps tempo with traffic on the overpass
each evening is its own reckoning —
have enough of them, a body will forget its name
then remember it again like an old friend
who lost his watch while visiting for supper
there are no causalities at the bottom of the glass of milk
after so many words, names of things
syllables eventually break down to minor scales
after a fashion, the body dissipates into the age after fathers
this song is not the record of the reckoning
but the space between notes.
![](https://rivercitymick.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/06/20230613_215619.jpg?w=1272)