a Lot (of) Practice

From roughly ----
5 car lengths away,
he plays his guitar;
yet, I’m unable to hear
his melody.

Why then, my tears
welling in cornered
crevice eyes?
I feel his music
I believe the lies of
unworldly
restraint.
Conspiring with
aging environment,
societal pressures
constrain and chain
the receptors of
my listening heart
to belief. . .
Love is an illusion
and I am not alive.

5 car lengths away
finishing up his play
ending all he practiced
to say ----
he drove away.

I heard not one note!
Not one melody of sound.
Mindful, moot and mote,
will my heart come around?
Feeling his song
from afar,
No longer belong
inside bars,
of religious right
worldly might
helpless plight!

As he drove out of
the shopping center parking lot,
I could have sworn I heard
him humming!!

It’s begun
and
I am listening. . .