A blues for Jazz

Aged oak oscillates heads sway
experienced souls, voices unknown
Breeze carrying inaudible timber
Scratching matches, lite
Curling smoke rises carrying
Sight into open skies
Ears open hearing the composition
Distant rumbling tracks
The horn blaring slack
Memories come rushing back
That scene, rooms sparse
A Vibe, holding hostage a romance
Between notes never played and songs
Never danced
You can hear it…close your eyes...

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