I ride with the smallest symphony

discordant jazz run amok
in the prettiest of sections I thrive
on the plucky cello rhythms
lifting like laughter with horns
then the timing changes and dips
I am the one who waits
in this doldrum lull of saxophone
slowly melting a version of Baker Street
it's so hard to know the secrets
of your heart - misconceptions or
hopeful thinking in the piano,
I just play for the next set wondering
when the violins will appear