The marks of fingertips on fruit,
their bruise--- meaning it is rendered
sweet; meaning the milk-poison
has been leached. And luck
is what comes sometimes after loss,
meaning the path you took wasn't
the one you were given. Before I
learned of groups of musicians
in black playing instruments together,
Symphony was the name of my grandfather's
barbershop: where he cut hair quietly,
and what fell was like soft, dark grass.