You so wild.

I  behold you like a spectacle of fireworks  in the distance,

or a kite doing its intricate dance on the wind waves.

or do I?

Perhaps I  follow you

and do my own dance on wind waves

and occasionally graze your sphere.

And there are other times when

I just  feel you  hold me.

Embrace me, Jazzman.

Contain me and keep me safe

from my own tempestuous travels.

My own tumult.

Left all on my own,

I  fly out of control until I crash.

I want you to be my anchor.

And yet,

of course,

I do not.

What a waste of you

that would be.

My true anchor

is my very own breath.

My own heartbeat.

The gravitational pull of the earth.

And so what are you, Jazzman?

You are my harbor and my travelling companion.

My haven and my muse.

My inspiration.

Your arms envelop and enclose me—

so stormy, flighty, rakish and unprotected.

Please tell me Jazzman,

How can I be so big and so small all at once?

How wonderful

to be held,

safe for a moment,

by one who knows the necessity,

the inevitability and

the exquisite adventures of the voyage.