I. there’s harried excitement like wobbling guitar strings
as he claws apart their couch. huge chunks of cheap
foam, digging digging, and as they come off, out the
window they go.
behind his eyes, he hears color. he told her, every pitch has its own shade and hue.
an air raid siren, for instance, has colors i do not like: a light yellow, and after,
a deeper green. he says that the image associa…