You know how much our love has travelled
your pain; my sorrow
my grief; your anguish
you and I know how much we can sail,
so let's come together and run away
I chase you beyond those oikon trees
where you hid those dark secrets
You chase me towards the junction
where the road divides
where the trees tell the stories
of the secret I cannot say
and then

*"I stitch your wounds"

What is it like
to make music?
It is skipping
on sunlight
opening your heart
to something strange
unexpected
something sublimely beautiful
in those sublimely beautiful times.

Sometimes it's a bust.
Sometimes a thousand degrees
of sweetness.

But when the music
plays through you
when you are not much more
than a spectator
to sounds emanating
mysteriously
from your lips
your lungs
your fingers

It's crazy good then.

There truly are no words
to express the miracle
of music in the moment
the player
listening as raptly
as the audience

It all comes together
at the end
and that's the lesson jazz has taught me.

It will all come together
at the end
in glory
or in sorrow
or both.

Most likely both.