The Way He Sees

he doesn’t need to see the world to understand it the rhythm of the streets tells him everything he needs to know he feels the sun not through his eyes but in the warmth on his skin the way the morning air shifts when the day begins his fingers dance across the keys or the strings or the frets like he’s tracing the face of something familiar something he’s always known music is his sight his way of painting the world without ever seeing it people watch him play some with pity, some with awe but he doesn’t care for their looks because when he plays he is free floating somewhere beyond what sight could ever give him he listens to the rain like it’s whispering a melody he hears the laughter of strangers like a song waiting to be written he doesn’t need eyes when he has music and music has always seen him