Thursday, November 6, 2008

Poem #1

My first CD

A warm feeling: like one gets when gazing at a familiar, welcoming sight

A wooden flute, drums, piccolo, something else I can’t quite identify

fingers moving

head tilted

din of voices

tap

sigh

yell

eyes alighted on the object of consideration,

fingers stop

head nods

The object’s holding place quietly collecting dust.

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