Improv

In the sway of the blues

that followed,

I think I remember

a cry. Separate from the

melody and in memory

a beat

which danced amongst

the guitar strings.

And if I were to listen

closely,

intimately,

I think I might

hear the bars,

which surrounded it,

pause;

wait for some

small thing

that never quite

returns.

Nia Griffiths, 2017

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