Sorry but I will never tell my daughter about soundwaves

wriggling like worms through walls and doors 

and down stairs to my living room couch where I hear her 

in the shower belting her overflowing heart out, 

snatches of pop songs intermingled with snarls and Mozart 

riffs so uninhibited, so locomotive through the straw 

house the first little piggy built, and, anyway 

isn’t it great how we can fill ourselves up with anything? 

A walk to the grocery store can set us brimming. 

Flicking outie belly buttons off avocados to find the ripe ones, 

smacking the bass drum of a hollowed-by-sweetness watermelon,

saying small prayers over the lobsters' death row aquariums.

It's like how last night astronauts flew 

the farthest any humans have ever been from earth,

observing parts of the moon never really studied before,

and, since one of the astronauts was in mourning 

for his wife, they named a crater after her 

because it was so bright. Have you ever been to a place 

where the only thing there is beside you is a huge Nothingness 

and it's opening its mouth, about to swallow you whole? 

What is more human than, in that moment, thinking of love? 

Look up. Squint, and you can just see it: light, a song unfurling.