October Aubade

                   
                  "...I know,
the sun is in my chest.
What will they do
if I don't give it back."
                   - Tomaž Šalamun


Tell me 
the likelihood 
of hearing
sounds 
imprisoned 
in a bell 
jar. 
Tell me
what name  
the ancestors
might call
sanctions
that come
before  
a judgment.
Tell me what 
happens next
if I meet you 
in the street,
and you 
and you 
and you—
if a table
erupts with
our laughter
before we 
have even 
sat down
to share 
the meal?
What 
will they do
if we sing 
so many
different 
karaoke
versions of
My Way;
if we refuse 
the story we 
are handed 
and instead
circulate
leaflet 
after leaflet 
crowing 
insistent
chorus 
of vermilion-
plumed 
roosters 
delivering
dawn?