Betsy Robin Schwartz

I stood in front

you looked down

from the stage, but

you had only one

mistress and she was

already in your arms.

The PAR cans colored the smoke.

And although I know

how these effects work,

I swore I could see your aura.

You were bigger than life

projected above the crowd.

And you played

you made music

you sang

you moved

you moved me.

I stood strapped between

you and the instrument,

your body on my back;

my fingers were yours

moving between the frets.

Calluses worn on fingertips,

yours and mine,

became the same tenderness.

I felt the hardwood body

beneath the strings.

For those moments,

I played as well as you.

And I played

I made music

I sang

I moved

I moved you.