Taken to a place of darkness, suddenly.
Also light.
At the foot of a hill, with a long road
weaving its way up the hill.
Darkness, also light.
Ben Webster, Stardust, filling my head.
A breath of wind, a movement of the air,
and another road, never taken, is visible.
Concrete, constructed by man, lined with trees,
dark.
A house beyond the limits
of my perception,
not invisible,
non-existent.

I’m in some bar
in Norway.
Ben Webster is playing How Long Has This Been Going On.
I can hear the clatter of plates,
the ripple of applause,
the voices low,
the saxophone so mellow.

Back again now, to my room,
the dog at my feet suddenly,
checking on me,
making sure I’m not leaving forever.
Ben Webster ups the tempo,
and I stay in my room,
let him come to me,
move my feet.
Get up.
Dance.

After, with heat in my body,
I sit again, and write.
Stardust falls on me like a silken shawl,
wraps me,
loves me.
In the café they applaud.
I applaud.
I love.

Taken to a place of darkness, suddenly,
also light.
Some roads do not need to be taken.
I’ll let the song play out,
wait for the applause.
Listen while I wait.
Is this how life is?
I smile, and hear the voices, the applause,
And now there is no music
the children in the playground clamour.
I glance their way and see their movement,
see the blind clatter in the wind,
am finally silent.