Blind Man's Light

The sax swims in, swims out,
like a snake uncoiling and then coiling back;
lead guitar's strident notes
command attention.
Bass draws repeated patterns,
like a child drawing circles in the sand;
drums cycle brooding,
punctured by the cheerful cymbals,
and return to brood again.

And
I sit, eyes closed,
in deathly stillness,
yet propelled
by that liquid momentum.

In the mind's eye
I see those fingers
press the keys,
pluck the strings,
play the chords,
sticks hit the drums.

They make me understand
life's motion,
like a blind man realising
light.

In the cobwebs
of my perceptions,
which I can feel
yet cannot really put in words,
I ask myself:
was this the language
I heard inside the womb?