let fingers find the notes up and down and across the horn, and sometimes they slide in conjunction with my lips around the mouthpiece as the air and my hands are in direct connect to my listening ears to the others who play as the feelings in my chest flow just so in sync to the movements, the swoop of a dress, the caress of her passing in a dance as she moves on by in memory or imagination and then the rain begins and we run, feet in a splashing sequence on the steps running up as we laugh and thunder woomps and cracks behind us somewhere and my horn splits in two to the mood and my breath pulses through and escapes my throat with the sound of the flow off the roof in the downspout and the flash hits my eyes and cracks again and the rain responds like waves on a beach and I lose all sense and thought of what came before the cold pounding rain and my playing and her hot electric touch and the jarring thunder
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