As he softly
lays down his honed voice,
In grooves that
give him room to improvise
From tenor to bass.
He turns so pretty like a young man with a looking glass.
Whispers, mumbles, flies the kite of song
In a signature growl and sage lullaby.
When he raises
the volume, it feels like he’s
Letting us in
on a secret.
Sincere and still full of surprises.
Some lines I've never heard before,
Like getting a
letter from an old friend.
A man who knows
even his stumbles are adorable.
Love me
lightly, let the wind blow high …
I forgot how he laughs and sings
At the same time.
Midnight’s broken tongue …
A phrase floats into mind
From a
kaleidoscope of memory.
Harmonica like
a hug.
Or a good meal.
Medicine for our blues.
***
I wrote this while listening to my first Bob Dylan concert a few weeks ago. Though he'd been a part of my life since 1964, I had never seen him in person. It was a memorable experience.
