Celestial curtains cover him
with a design of plenty.
He breathes alive the bass,
jazzing the room with
engine pulsing sounds.
.
His hair is black and thick,
like obsidian crystals
crushed from stars.
The beauty of his face
and voice release like
midnight bats
carving the sky.
Highways of angels
step up,
securing a spot,
each welcoming the
presence of a soul with gift
melting out strong.
He strikes the notes.
The strings slip back
a respect with sound
blessing him.
Roger Singer 