Troy Cafe

I see but cannot hear
         sky washers
         tossing sun like
         shimmering dice.

No, it is twang of cornet
         leaking loons of clarinet
         manwoman tune
         baby's yelp
         fan's wide wedge:

         these dance across brick walls of red.

Chords of light
         go happening
         phosphorize mind's silver slate
         and, traceless,
         vanish in renewal.