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Gallop vapor folded aluminum mare resonator 
Sun spits decorative decimals bleeding metal
Scatter the hourglass pearl crown tidewater brine dusk
Tongue sings driftwood bone galleys
Captain Arcaro flew sideways through time,
his boots full of fishbones,
his teeth tuned to minor seventh.
The geese were his crew—
not honking but howling,
in saxophone wails and accordion rhythms.

Their wings left chalk outlines on the sky.
Their feathers glowed radio static.
They played jazz for the summer castaways 
and lullabies for clocks
that had entreated tick.

The captain’s coat was stitched
from old shipwreck flags
and funeral veils of extinct queens.
He chewed nicotine like a pharmacist 
He swore in nautical Esperanto.

Every Tuesday they dropped anchor
in alleyways and cellars—
set up brass,
pounded beats on oil drums and ribcages.
The geese wore sunglasses
and carried their instruments in plutonium briefcases.

They played for ghosts and runaway math,
for librarians who’d lost their vowels.
They played until time folded
and sneezed into its handkerchief.

Captain Arcaro, wild-eyed and burning with portholes 
blew into his rusted trumpet and declared:
“Tonight, we fly the tempo into fragments.

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