I see their downed faces
Drowned faces
Swimming in this tranquil sea.

The greatest invention?

Thin walls offer an
Illusion of closeness
Defeated by a certain head-tilt
A touch,
Memory of distance.

Bathers squeeze tender thoughts,
Wells of love and hate,
Each stroke breaking against
Irresistible sand-light.

(16 April 2015)

Jazz Hands

A fusion of fingers, no,
thumbs bisect impossible angles
it took Keith Jarrett years
to master these moves that
warped his careful hands
into improvised new shapes
while her torturous contortions
beat a tune her toes mimic
in their leopard-print hi tops
and aquamarine nails coordinated
with her instrument’s plastic casing
played on, play on soundless notes
that belong to her brood, this brand
new wave who prefer to blare
every need, passion, thought and feeling
with these silent trumpet calls
we should call them “the glass section”
but it wouldn’t scratch the surface.

— 12/19 March 2015