In husky alto,
I unleash a melody
so bittersweet, the crowd
doesn’t dare breathe
until the first line ends.
My longing hangs like smoke
above the tables,

the rhythm
  sways, hypnotic,
    silken. So too,
      my hips,
    charmed like
  a snake into
I hold this song
 like a lover, as if
  to make it part of me.
   I want to become
     sound, color, texture.

Guitar notes run up
and down their spines
and mine. Fingers
drum the beat on knees,
their drinks clink
like empty glass hearts
that ache to be filled
once again.

Our lungs hold the air
the trumpeter needs
for his next phrase, my eyes
close as he begins to play….