High Notes

From the back alleys
behind the jazz and country clubs
echoes of the pain of past love
flowing from apartment to mansion
singing to pewter and gold alike
in persistent, eternal greeting.

A whisper of air
carried on dark wings
toward a mysterious end.

Peaking high notes on a lone sax
desperately wail to the willing
and bury warmly in the sand.

The music ceases but its memory remains
tormenting those craving more
thick silence devours a street where
Darkness is broken only by the occasional lamp
or neon sign over a man quietly working
in a shop that’s long since closed
leaving a city to ponder.