The coffee shop is empty now,
patrons have all gone home.
The musicians have loaded out,
their echoes follow.
I turn off the lights,
the work is done.
I pick up my guitar and feel it’s energy,
waiting, frustrated by unmet expectation.
There’s so much beauty inside it,
but I’m not to be the channel for it’s release.
I gently put it back in it’s stand,
and lock the door behind me.