the bulging veins in his neck, raise my eyes
to the bubbled jaws stretched threaten to burst
the furrows making rivulets of perspiration beads
and the hands on the mother of pearl tips
two keys down
fingers hovered above
the Herculean strain he made to keep
the mighty horn...in a whisper
the sentence begins slowly and evolves
a question then a riddle..
and slowly he takes us down the page
line after line of sweet intensity
until we once again arrive at the beginning
and slowly, surely..we turnaround
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