Jazz
Just then the ocean wells up
to dance the moon with
shimmy of cymbals and
curve of the bass.
And at that moment
-sax slips in-
real
sultry
like
a woman
wrapped in sheets of silk
and shadows shaped by candlelight.
Zen reborn
to the beat of a drum, the insistence of a piano to be played,
not by the hands alone,
but the entirety of the body.
Zero in on this explosion
where fingertip and string
fuse to cries
of solitude and joy -
lost but finally one inside
the sheer
delectability
of sound.
-rm
