by a contributor
Drummer recedes into his brushes.
Pianist’s hands barely scrape the keyboard.
Trumpeter’s instrument drops to his side
like the wing of a golden eagle at rest.
No guitar. No vibes. No saxophone.
Six feet of lanky legs, horn-rimmed glasses,
black matted hair, step forward.
Clarinet floats to the lips.
The band form one glistening shadow
to the breezy spotlight of wind through wood.
Breath follows the sound in his head.
His fingers dance proof of the resonance of ring-keys.
The melody passed around like a last cigarette
now takes its delight in the one mouth,
the one brisk sweat drop
drying over the vent hole.
John Grey is an Australian born poet. Recently published in International Poetry Review, Chrysalis and the science fiction anthology, “Futuredaze” with work upcoming in Potomac Review, Sanskrit and Fox Cry Review.