Sitting on his stool
the old man strains notes
convoluted and convalescent
in the grey-grey dawn,
the pitter-pattering pour of
earthly power, reverberating
like the subway’s urbane roar.
Blinded in years,
He is the maestro resurrect
On the days when the long rain fell.
The Waking Den 
beautiful piece chris…a maestro in the rain and noises of the city…it does have some rather beautiful music…
” blinded in years, He is the maestro resurrect…” so beautiful. I feel it, I imagine it…perfect, Chris.
“convoluted and convalescent
in the grey-grey dawn,
the pitter-pattering pour of
earthly power, reverberating”
I really fell into these lines Chris, lovely write!! ~ Rose
Lovely, particularly in the middle. The aural quality of these two lines is superb –
in the grey-grey dawn,
the pitter-pattering pour of
Looking for you Chris on dVerse, so i came to find you..this poem has a gorgeous poignancy, there is real internal music here echoing the external narrative..and l love the ending..’on the days when the long rain fell’ expresses a continuance, your words have stopped, but the music hasn’t, and won’t…