The accordion pumps out its notes
and a man effortlessly lets
melodies flow from loose lips,
striped shirt and red neck tie
giving the look of a boy
to a man
who simply sings
of a life not yet lived,
of a longing long ago realized,
long ago accepted
as life-long.
Red wine flows
as a clarinet joins the mix
now more upbeat
and the driving force of a bass
plucking the deep melody
of a pulse felt in the chest
profondément
to the core.
And so goes the rhythm of the night.
We tap our feet
nod our heads
close our eyes and watch
the music
take form:
rising and falling
flowing
through the maze
of streets and down
to the never-ending path
beside the Seine,
to the river
flowing
in color
in black and white
red as the wine
driving us on
driving us away
driving us home.
Published by Fleas on the Dog, Sept 2020
marks in the sand 