Street Musician

His battered case is lined with grief.

It's open at his feet.

He plays his songs and sings along,

his heart between his teeth.

Passersby might walk right by

as though he is a shadow,

or throw him change to let him know 

they, too, can feel his sorrow.

Some toss a smile to warm his bones.

He'll catch it in his hands.

Then hummingbirds flit from his palm

to sip his music from the air.

He drinks the notes back in his throat

so he won't lose the tune.

Music flows from his lips and fingertips 

whenever he comes to play.

published in Imogene's Notebook