© 2003 Eric C. Lind
I stride along with that arm at
my side and
let sweet sentiments dance on my tongue
in nightlight hours with stars and neon.
I vibrate the resonance of some invisible screaming saxophone
and keep rhythm with the sounds around.
Some percussive tribal beat that the city can't quash,
an instinctive flow of the mind and heart
That dominates me into motion.
I am free to be what my eyes would see
in some 6 - 8 calling, up beat on the street.
My stride is centrified in the world rhythm
and chorus populace, black coffee, and warm welcome shadows.