Two Guitars

Last I saw you 
we were in the north woods 
guitars in hand 
searching for that place 
in the music 
where harmony resides 
traveling down 
the highway of notes and chords 
from opposite directions 
you on the stretched octave 
hanging by the last note 
on chromatic scale 
me in the ninths 
slipping the bass line in 
from below 
until we met in that place 
all musicians 
search for and seldom find 
all the talking around us stopped 
from the campfire we took off 
like eagles on a thermal 
we sailed above the camp 
circling the cliff-tops 
until our instincts 
brought us down

the fire of that night 
has never died 
I took it with me 
it burns in my fingertips 
bringing energy 
to my tired limbs 
it burns in my soul 
and demands attention 
reminding me of the reasons 
why I play

For me, for her, and yes, even 
for the drunks who are still 
calling out, 
"Hey Do you know Free Bird"

I tell them I do 
but I only played it once, 
in the forest, 
by a campfire, 
near the cliffs,

and it had nothing to do 
with leaving her tomorrow

ajs

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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