symphony unfinished

What happened to the music
that played between us
wind, string, percussion rich?

Didn't we sense the spirit conducting the song?

Wasn't there a clean and precise drum beat
keeping our pace synchronous

trumpets freeing consciousness
from the need for words

flutes playing in and out of each measure
providing us freedom and frame
for trusting and giving and listening and taking

strings and adagios
weighless
dancing
fearless
jumping
no less
boundless

Wasn't that the tune you heard?

intoxicatingly safe
a symphony of thoughts
without orchestral limits

jazz at it's best
rythmn above count
melody transcending key

a tune that faded to pianisimo
begging me as listener to lean forward

and then resuming in perfect time
memorable enough for me to hum along
yet fresh enough each day
to prompt me to incline eagerly toward the movement

I revelled most in six eight time
marvelled at how it was expressed
and re-expressed
two beats to each measure
or three
or six
sounding similar
feeling new
urgently seeking a beat
any beat
waltz-march-gallop-run

I chased the syncopation
focused intently on the beat
tapped my toe to keep it
immersed myself
in the harmony
without being aware
of how caught up in the song
I'd become

The music fell silent
not a whisper
not a pause

breaths held
hands suspended
I turn to the conductor

was His baton still raised?

No.

The podium stands empty.