His dormancy was a judgement call
That they made but
It doesn’t account for, at all,
The light in his eyes when he starts playing.
The flourishes, the unnecessary twirls, the eloquent style.
The music surging and spilling,
Filling up the ether.
Soaking the barriers between the dream-world
While I watched, transfixed,
By the irresistibility of it all.
The gorgeousness of his time,
Like flickering embers, overwhelmingly riveting.
Reeling itself, reeling in me,
Until it reached the end of the reel.
The end of it,
When the music and movement ceased.
Subtly, everything shifted
Just a little bit,
And that light at the end of his tunnelled vision
That I am so sure was a blazing bonfire
Is already smuggled away
Invisible to all, including him.
Like desert snowstorms, disconcerting,
Brought forth again,
The next time he starts playing.
(A/N: I find it hard to write without feeling something – I haven’t written in months. A song I resonate with is Pink Floyd’s Comfortably Numb.)