HARRY JAMES
Let it just be said
that I went up to do a one-nighter
with archangel Gabriel.
His embrasure breathes soul
into a Stradivarius trumpet
that he inherited from his father.
His fine bony fingers do the talking,
playing dolce and dolcissimo
to not intrude on the bird-chatter
of fluttering doves under
the canopy of the firmament.
Everything is stilled, when dancers
stop and listen to the liquid gold
of his chromatic glissando.
Later, he hits a double-high C,
but only a dog can hear.
His arrangement of Ciriciribin
is hummed and strummed
by every Venetian gondolier.
His radiant tunes are heard
by unseen ears on faraway stars.
Angels can’t sit still.
They must get up and dance.
Such lush music
reminds us all: We exist.
Milton P. Ehrlich 199 Christie St. Leonia, N.J. 07605