there is a man playing saxophone

there is a man playing saxophone
beneath a bridge of the freeway
that cuts through downtown.


i was walking, rain soaking
into puddles on my shoulders
submerging into an ache, heavy as
5,000 barrels and 1,200 troops
treading stronger

on days like this, it is hard to believe
that magic can happen.

in the height of earth's heavy dripping, a bridge
brought me shadow, shelter and song:
this man and his saxophone
slicing open concrete
through my ears

there was something about the confetti
of his melody, the unexpected acoustics
of the tunnel, the hollow inside me
filling unexpectedly

as if the sun burst through
the insoluble shadows
swarming the sky

but I will not lie

there was little warmth
beneath that bridge
for either of us—

the oil kept spilling
the day continued to weep

and that dollar i gave would not feed him
for as long as his song
would feed me