His hands wish for music -
strong and sturdy, beautiful,
willing magic chords out of silent strings.
The groove in his mind -
like a session with Miles at Birdland -
is worlds away from this practice room stool.
“Is it worth it? This hunger? This want?”
I ask, and in a voice like his eyes,
deep as the echoes of jazz,
he says, “Yes, can’t you hear it?”