Night chords drip a slow pace.
Porches fill with moving voices.
The ice in drinks mix with perfume and sweat.
The bass man spills the passion
while his hands create a sound blessing.
He has a garden of jazz to release.
Colors in the crowd move forward, bright
with face, soft in soul.
He provides escape, a way to the in
of his calling out.
His arms run the length.
He sees dreams bending, reshaping
into wings, lifting him and the music
to levels only children consider.
He delights in the inspiration.
Roger Singer 