I cannot explain the taste of sour brilliance
rotting in the sun like fruit the chartreuse color
of the number six — but I can smell it when it ripens
and
I cannot teach you how to feel the bristles
of magic against the nape of your existence
or how pink smells against sweaty feet or
the taste of twelve as it ripens to
forever or
how one can face the future by turning one’s back on
presence
but
I can tell you that brilliance smells like the color
twelve and it rubs against the skin like
the number 1000

and I can see it
when I hear it.