Puccini, Manilow,
Coltrane and Cline
as different as running and crawling
Treble and bass clef artists
Infusing my essence with layers
of deeply coloured melodies
Whole notes
held for a sixteen count
savoured,
and tasted.
Trumpets call me home
Wailing winds hold me there.
Rapt, I tap your shoulder
Listen!
Sixteenth’s running away
Tumbling, falling and never out of tune
as impossible as scaling Everest
as probable as getting lost in the Arizona desert.
Aching hearts, loves lost
red rubber ball days
harvest moon nights
wouldn’t it be nice
if music coloured everything?
© Rosemarie D’Amico 2019
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