LPiA-26 Nov. 9

[Bunx]

I look at the stained maghony
how the lacquer reflects the light.
Its facing my bed as if resting,
I wonder if it dreams at night?

Does it remember the songs
played ontop of bending floors
that made me wonder if
we were falling through?

Maybe it felt the weeks
of my fingers on its strings
practicing in the Potomac
as cattle herd to hear.

I wonder if it felt laughter
when we played on countless
basement floors? Does it know
how many friends met at gigs?

As if it longs for vibration
a symbol in a equation
amplified by circumstances
strengthened by circuits.

I pack up my bass
to take to my friends,
letting it reflect light.

It'll dream when I do.