He touched the strings.

His bass fiddle responded

to his touch like I do.

The notes were gentle

waves of his own

sense of humor.

She said fitting sounds

back to him

on the keys.

Their music pleased

and teased

everyone

the way it played itself

through their fingers.

They communicated

in unwritten jazz riffs

feeling the moment

filling the room

with creative delight,

none of it taped

just into the air

like a loving prayer.