A gentle shower begins to play.
Raindrops snap and pop
on my tin roof;
Adventuring sounds,
Fading in and out,
Rushing tempos,
Slowing down,
Searching for chords,
A warm up set.
Accompanied by a breezy horn,
Blowing jazz notes for emphasis,
Finger my skin,
Lay underneath the rain
A refrain that works with emotion.
The breeze and rain play counterpoint.
An ensemble of enchantment,
soothes aging ears
with a syncopated sounds.
A rhythmic salve to thoughts pestering my brain, releasing the demons of what was and what might have been,
From another round of reasoning.
Tree frogs provide accompaniment,
As tears from father sky
bath bird and beast and
Quench the thirst of Mother Earth.
The land is a sponge.
And the tinkle of water
performs its rooftop tunes,
Until the jazz fades,
Leaving nothing but rest.
THH
9/14/24
Thoughts Have Hands 