Roger Singer

The warm water

of jazz

found favor

on my ears

cleansing the

inner me

rolling cool

into air

bad with thirst

forming breezes

lifting hair

and silk skirts

blowing licks

and healing

suffering wounds

with the gift

of pure song

like stars born

falling to

earth and into

the hearts of

horns and strings

with breathes

that bless

you with

hope.