I watch you tug imaginary gloves
And tilt your head because you hate your chin,
And then play through the city’s rush and shoves
As if Manhattan were your violin.
Your tune is high and soaring, like your dreams:
The major theme of one great symphony
That will resolve the concrete with the seems
Into a concord of true harmony.
And as you play, I note just how composed
You are, how all the strain falls from your eyes,
And how, beneath your cat-mouth, is exposed
A smile born out of passion and surprise
Because, in these harsh streets, you’ve finally met
A mate to mate with in a choice duet.
Copyright 2010 Matthew J Wells