Rain shivers down the car door’s insides and I

cackle, guitar riffs and wind whipping loose hair
like broomstick bristles. You ever heard an off-
key soprano? Uncork me and gape. Lightning
and sun-touched ripples are the same silver.
When you count your blessings, do not forget.
I have tiny brass knives sheathed in my quiet
ears. You are lucky I am not a mourning person.