His gift
thrives from his
pain
as he trumps the air
with his horn.
Golden flashes
strike the wall
as his hands
lift the notes
weighted with years.
His music
draws in
with pull
while the sounds
push
then tease
twisting around
faces like
lovers’ fingers
begging for
mercy.
He sticks
the jazz
deep into souls,
like arrows
striking.
Roger Singer 