The pop of jazz
rushed a line
from his horn
long with lifting
a breath desired
as the world
slips from his eyes
opening dreams
with furious release
like night runners
searching for safety
where every street
is an alley
of a song yet formed
as angels slip and run
and crowds
lean into him
for divine heat
he steps back
claiming his space
his ownership
behind the fence
protecting
the surface of his
soul.
Roger Singer 