sometimes

dעr tאlmid

in the evenings
we danced.

sometimes.

when the kids were asleep.

we turned the radio on
that was tuned to NPR Jazz.

and it played jazz.

it played Brubeck and Coltrane,
it played Stan Getz and Ellington.

and we danced,
sipping the port wine,
making shades on the brick wall.

and the candle flames danced with us.

and we didn’t care about neighbors
yelling at each other
or barking dog
or a car alarm that went on
and our annoying old cat.

sometimes.

candle flames danced,
without
us.

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