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.