For Art We’re Still Alive

Prose poetry for the color blue

Photo by Philipp M. on Unsplash

The last guitar strum reverberates on chest and lung and heart moving of you and through you. I believe in acoustics that leave behind the blue light embers before the encore; the spotlight on an empty stool golden in anticipation.

I believe in the fourth row, the background noise, the smell of people united in music, intoxicating sounds…