Older folk lift closed eyes. Those with large
noses open their mouths. A precise woman
in pearls wears her white hair in a cocoon bun.
Her cheekbones tighten
like mountain air.
The few who lean in defy middle age:
spine bent, forehead lined.
Men move more than their dates,
confirm rhythms with the dip
of eroded chins.
But it is the woman in pearls
who offers her face. Eyes
like drums. Mouth on a string.
Her elder husband sways.
Meanwhile we, the youth,
miss every second note.
Take comfort in the evening stored,
however loosely, on our phone.
Written at the Benedict Music Tent, during the Aspen Music Festival 2014