Saxophones on air in my hand
My mood, my board, my keys
On four fingers, internal flow
On air, breathe
and smooth
blow with a rhyme and tune
carefree and strengthened
yet.
Looking above, he jostles
amid tension and turmoil
voiceless for he sees as
a world of noise
and nuisance;
moving ahead is a great ordeal,
these notes on
saxophone,
with a pitch
and breathe
lingering in me, around me
for the instrument is my birthright,
no birds, no pecks, no “ma”
no belching cow in the vicinity,
no slowness, drudgery bugging,
only a saxophone
truth saying
my life is all in the instrument.
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