On 16th St.
a teenager's loud falsetto
wavers over
an old gospel song,
"Take away the sickness
and the pa-ai-aine"
He makes it, maybe it is,
so many words.
Those red lights
at his shoulder,
only geraniums
in a window box.

But I am startled,
stopped in mid-step.
A snake could do it,
or fireworks
starting up again and again.
Even uncommon beauty.
A startle requires
immediate attention.
Your mouth drops open,
your hand rises up
as if to wave.

A startle
is like an angel rising
from a river of fire,
brief in its life
like an insect.
When I was born,
one wiped away what I knew
with his thumb,
pressing a groove
into my upper lip,
stunning me to silence.