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.



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