It becomes a part of your body, the

saxophone, my teachers always says.

It’s the only moment during the

week I can hold my lungs in my

hands, and tell them fiercely ‘yes’, for

their work often goes untold even

though it’s what makes the talking in

the first place. So

as that vintage silver begins to extend

my breath into the world I surf on that

larger orbit made of air and

emotion dancing with each other, making

sounds with their soles and rhythms with

their rounds.

This is my song. It’s only just begun and

may sometimes be supremely disharmonious

or utterly invented

or interrupted at times,

even for longer, but it’s my try to make some

matters matter, and musically so.