I sit on the street watching a fiddler
Strings dancing in the hands of the master
Delicately, delightfully, as each note is drawn
Precisely the tune moves along
A rhythmic tapping of feet on the sound board
Sends my shoulders into a secretive shimmy
Transmitting to a swiveling of the spine
Next a gentler swaying of the hips
A moored raft on calm waters
The music takes a sudden up tempo
On his feet erupts the fiddler
Body rocking as if possessed by the instrument
Strings blurred by speed
Man and object blurred by spirit
I look down and I am not sitting
My feet suspended in midair
Weightless yet full of substance
Connected yet free