The Blind Er-hu Man

Blue is the color of heat

creeping up cheeks, the dewy 

waft of er-hu sounds to ears

strung with everyday industrial

noise, sound of an old man strumming

for a prayer of brilliance through sunglasses,

for a coin to shine his pocket

now lined with tissue waste and hungry days,

a dirty hanky used to wipe blue heat

off the pockmarks of his face. Time

is a race to serenade each passerby 

with aubades deep as subterranean streams,

cajoling folks to look away from phones -

look here - stay here and listen - 

for someday in the midst of meals or sleep

you and I will have the soft quilt pulled

over our faces - faces we tried to chisel 

our days of blue youth in -

the way the er-hu man covers his face

of seasons at nightfall, and sleeps beside
the walkway- repeats - his song of alms.