my fingers chase
a rhythm consecutively.
one by one, they
follow a note or two
without you nor I knowing
that my feet moved and
my jacket found my
back too.

my fingers chased
a cloud and left you
(a sky that’s Miles Davis’s
kind blue).

…

It doesn’t rain enough
to warm us here,
It doesn’t rain enough
to keep us from here. 

my fingers chase
a rhythm they can’t hear.

by vulgivagus