Nuance

 

As he softly lays down his honed voice,

In grooves that give him room to improvise,

Tenor or bass,

Turning so pretty like a young man holding a looking glass.

 

Whisper, mumble, fly the kite of his voice

With the signature drawl, 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,

What is old is very new again.

 

Black rider became a night rider.

Like getting a letter from an old friend.

A man who knows even his tumbles are adorable.

 

Love me lightly, let the wind blow high …

I forgot that he can laugh and sing at the same time.

 

Midnight’s broken tongue … his phrases just float into my mind

From a kaleidoscope of memory.

 

Harmonica like a hug.

Or a meal.

Medicine for my 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.