Cool summer drizzle outside on Leonard
while reverent Knitting Factory crowd
inside studies him, standing with guitar
alone in stage’s gentle light, head bowed
while he begins soft, almost tinkling chords
as if leading Buddhist meditation,
musical mantra rising through fjords
of glistening jazz, soaring to union
of blues and passionate rock, his taut face
in silent pleasure-pain as crescendo
climaxes, descending slow to kind place
where he began. Then silence. Who could know
such glory exists, such gifts to share, cause
humans to rise, embrace him with applause.
Roger Armbrust
October 29, 2009
