It Must Be the Medication

So the hip rises, oh so slightly, in its golden socket
and music continues despite the dawn

The lion threw his head back and sang two notes like a veery

Everywhere doubling, two acid drops on sugar,
two boiling drops on ice, close your eyes

And memory sound as a wooden bucket, more sound

Why fuss with innuendo, when
gold and russet fruit lies across the forest floor?

Here, the loon’s vocal cascade, absolute,
for the moment without remove, write, “I can’t stop laughing”