MARKET STREET

It is night
Shade has escaped from the corners of buildings
And from the leaves of trees
Congealing in blackness
Too thick to be cut by street lights or neon

Philadelphia's past midnight and still
The heat holds close
I can hardly carry it alone
Walking empty downtown
Until the phrases
Saxophone
But not a tune, a saying
Drift light
Lure another sense and bear it from me

The player empties himself
Into the hollow buildings and the streets
There, in the recessed doorway
He hunches low
Reaching blindly through the dark
But sure of his fingers
Sure of his bright melodic song

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