Fill the air with music and talk,
A little wine and later, Bach.
Lulls punctuated by counterpoint
Are their own musical midpoint.
It is like love at prima vista,
Music my first and ever lingua.
I listen to their close voicing
Without myself at all digressing
Into the old man, the angry man,
The bitter and forgotten sideman.
Listening cries angels in my ears
And piano runs melt my fears
And the trumpet my daughter plays
Distills the light with moon rays
And the changes they are blowing
Are the real future we are sowing.