The fourth floor feels remote in the dingy apartment
The summer’s bright coat covers the sleepy afternoon.
There stands my friend, the little man, the fiddler
The air is filled with an elusive, copper-red, nostalgic tune
Suddenly I am so lonely, I can burst into tears
Look across the room at the lady with the quiet gentle face
A half smile flashes from under a polite graceful nod
I know I won’t touch anything as I scratched the surface
The walls begin to cave in with the spreading waves of music
I must have let go, for I am lifted up, floating with the tide
Everyone is a little more bearable, less closed in, less masked
As I open up for the copper-red music to poor inside
I catch a shy sad smile to my far far left
As I turn and see my friend, the fiddler’s wife, sitting there
I know its time for me to talk as our eyes meet
Hers lovely and brown filled to the brim with despair
I grab a Divan of Hafez from the table and dive into the first ode
Gasping with the first shock of jumping into the sea
My friend the fiddler slows to make room for my voice
I move with the warm ocean currents that surround me
I am reading, riding, floating, flaying
Jumping, running, gliding, glowing
Touching, teasing, reaching out, releasing
Tasting the fresh watery ease of flowing
Suddenly, politeness has melted with the urgency to feel the words
To inhale their freshness, their resonance, their life
The lady across the room has tears in her eyes
So does my shy quiet friend, the fiddler’s wife
Outside the window, the summer’s bright coat
Is pulled in all directions by the playful afternoon
I pause to make room for my friend the fiddler
Who makes his way back with a nostalgic silvery tune
July 6, 2000