If I Could Sit Down and Play

I wish that I could sit down and play;

That I could create something original,

Put something new and beautiful into the smoke and

Red shaded lights and empty air—

Straight from my bloodstream and out through my lungs—

Out of nothing but a collection of mallets and strings, or

Brass and oxygen;

That I could connect to everyone in an instant

And to God who, like the music I’ll make is just as invisible but

No less real, and like those blue notes

Floats so easily yet with so much

Weight;

That I could have life firing from my fingertips

That I could make people move, snap their fingers

Tap their feet and we could completely understand each other.

What a wonderful way to communicate. What a way to speak and to listen

To strangers, my friends, my mother, my brother, my father, and that loving

Mystery that swirls in circles in between them all.

Because words get muddled and confused, but my music

Will be unmistakably clear.  Yet, it seems that

For now, my words will have to do.  I can make it work. 

I’ll figure something out.   But when all is

Said and done, I just want to be able to sit down and play.