Somewhere Along the Way    

A tuba floats in the arms of a man
in sneakers on wet cobbles, its shine
the color of frozen gasoline; a trumpet
sounds the sound of cream-yellow tulips
thrown wide open; firemen lean
on mailboxes, boys let go of each other
across from old women who play the radio
all day, and stained cooks smoking:
intake, exhale, like the brass
men, cheeks stuffed with candy,
sugar spun on air and tar
and bell, lips disappearing
into notes disappearing into black
slicks, memory, flicked ash;
music two seconds old bruising
the weather, three seconds old rich
as sugar thrown wide to the bowl of
planets.