First published in ?

Sunday afternoon
last light
a fire smouldering
in the hearth
an occasional spurting flame
jazz notes from a flute
soaring into the air
a trumpet reaching up
to draw gem-stone colours
on the gathering dark
a keyboard scattering tunes
like pebbles on water
a guitar threading pickpocket music
into the mix
and a girl
swaying to the beat’
her voice rich with the words
of Summertime
wrapping the listeners
in the sound of sadness
their drinks forgotten –
then a growing silence
broken only
by a shower of sparks