Guitar At A Bar In Orlando

There is a well
at the bottom of its strings,
an open throat,
The guitar dances and sings.
The player sways
with the wandering of a song.
What do people hear
on New Year’s Eve,
tapping feet
holding children in their arms?
The dancing in the dark.
Men and women touching hands
racing through the memories
of their hearts?
The orchestra flying with the mood
and oblivion of heart beats,
Joining the jam of music
in the air,
near the sea,
sweet with the ripple of water
and momentary waltz of evening.