Carlos described Jerry's guitar playing,
as he exhaled- said it was like stringing beads carefully,
craftfully, filling the room with a network of delicate colorful strands.
He would know better than most- Santana jammed with The Dead,
and there's nothing biased about his depiction- said he personally
decorated by throwing beads around the room.
I totally and completely appreciate, as I exhale,
sitting in my socks, soaking up a Grateful compilation
track-by-track; a loyal Dead Head.
But I don't see beads.
I've never jammed with Jerry,
but I feel at times that we share the same room,
with it's hazy ceiling tired above the hanging art-
this room with soft, bright walls fit to hold each and every note
which collect neatly and gradually
to hang later like dew drops on spider's silk.
Maybe if I was there when Santana came through the door,
holding a Fender and a bucket of crafts,
And Jerry welcomed him excitedly through his beard,
then maybe we would see some beads.