In the muddle of Palermo Airport:

a grand piano.

 

People glance, some hesitate,

one played a single note then

took a bow to imagined applause.

 

A hairy young man with bad skin

sat down, monkeyed with a few keys

and then played a haunting

version of that jazz standard,

Autumn Leaves

and my tears took their leave

of some autumn

deep within me.