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
May 26, 2010
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