Here we are again
Waiting for something special to happen
Something out of the ordinary
A dance among the leaves
A plastic bag on the sidewalk
A magical moment that no one,
Not even you, will remember, as
Fleeting as Jazz, the fingers on the
Frets, the black keys tickle under
The chin, a little kiss from
Grandma, a cold-lipped smooch
From a woman who will soon be
Underground, the magic of life
is not lost on the living, it’s
Lost on the dead, perceptionless
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