In smoky alto, she
rasps out a melody
so soft and sad,
that I don’t dare breathe
until the first line ends.
A gentle rhythm sways,
hypnotic and sweet,
also my hips,
to feel the motion
inside myself.
I hold this song
like a lover,
as if to make it 
part of me.
I want to become 
sound, color, texture,
my body, the palette,
my lungs hold the air
the trumpeter needs 
for his next phrase.
My eyes close as he begins to play…….