twenty-two beats per minute faster than me, him and his jazz
trio in front of a waterfall in the Versailles garden.
He'd sit in the front pew in Longmont on April 11 and listen to me play
Javanaise and nod approvingly; there will be spirit in those
notes and a bit more time to linger on how lovely they are.
I wished he had been my father, then like him, I would have
been able to play duets daily with my dad, brandishing a flute
with panache instead of bearing the bruises of punishment
from my own.
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