Concerto, concerto

Fingers fly across fret boards and
stretched skins, fingers blurred,
strings stroked and plucked
again and again, as rhythms rise and move
and carry me along into every corner of my brain
and every part of the universe, until
all
my nerves and brain cells are in
harmony
and I am their willing,
so willing
captive.

Behind them, seventy or more
stroke and pluck and vibrate reeds and pound on drums
adding to this dance, adding to the song in my brain.

They move me along, taking me on the ride
and I don’t want to get off, I don’t want to stop
and I want to keep going down the rabbit hole
to hear their world, at least for a bit of time,
until every synapse can barely fire one more time
until my brain’s feet can dance no more.

And when I dream, the dreams are in four
four time, and the dance
goes
on.

9/09