Work to do,
people to love,
worlds to explore here
both inside and out
in this blessedly
sensate body.
The men in the park
finger smooth falling jazz
while my fingers transcribe
this small poem. They sing:
“I've got the blues",
but I don’t believe them.
Not today. Not now,
with that life-hugging trumpet
and dignified bass,
with these rapturous
trees, and the light
bursting brazen
from every shadow,
including their black eyes
and mine.