Bass Solo
He stands six feet from me
there's no amplification, I
hear the whoosh of air, fingers
against heavy strings, breath
drawn, the pad of his shoe
against blond wood.
Eyes closed he smiles, an inner
dialogue a split second before
action and sound.
We are transported.
A train. Moving water. Scudding
clouds on wind.
Somewhere a clock is ticking,
outside of Time.
