Buena Boys

Did you see the innocence
of those old seamed faces?
Did you hear it in those voices?
The musica ringing chang chang
beat of cubano, son offered
in tattered hands, brittle,
twig-fingered but cakewalking
smooth as ripe guava, baby.
Keys, strings, and spirit,
which is ageless.

Silencio!

That's life you hear triumphing,
dancing in a little boy face,
grin-lit under the cap,
or winking gripped
around un puro grande,
nodding, plucking chords,
singing past carnations
or branches that drop like youth,
one tender leaf at a time.

Time dances.

My baby, my main hombre says:
Look at Ry. He's in awe of them.

Yes! Yes! I think so
because the grace of that
unquestioning dedication
deserves no less.