Frenchman St

We think we hear a saxophone.
Perhaps it is a trombone.
It is a pristine but non symmetrical tone-
A swirl of instrumentals…a singers rumbling moan.

The experience of each is uniquely new. 
She listens for base…he hears only keys…to name a few.
What I hear- I don’t quite know, but I know you listen for it too.

The night is never out.
The sidewalk drums will continue to shout.
Figures roam the street dancing about.
The spectacle is this city, no doubt.

Music occupies all sound
The beat drowns out all other noise around.
We soak it in…we grin…we are bound
To the magical sound we have found.