A hug from those that came before me

and went to that great somewhere that

is nowhere anymore until

I slide into that coat

that remembers the fold of my arms and

I remember the embrace of

everything we stood for

the thunder and the grace

and the the beautiful face

in the black and the white of

the leather and the night.

The last stand of the timid turns

on their stiffening

a rocket of emotion

a moment of glistening

with backs to the wall

and nobody listening

they hear the last song

that the ransomed were singing.

The coat is an album

full of old pictures

and a vault imbued

with all of my wishes as

I dance through the streets with

wise eyes and dervishes and

thunder and grace.

I remember the embrace of

everything we stood for

and the beautiful face

in the black and the white

of the leather and the night.

-Danny Grosso

The party started early and ended late. Some people are made to be together – though often not in groups as big as this. Like some dusty love song, this crew could not quit each other, regulars on Walton Place, as integral as the kitchen. By 5:30 on Fridays they were over-populating the bar, pushing the conventioneers to the side tables. They ate a bit, drank a bit more, and laughed – my, did they laugh. The uproar made it good to be back out, among people again, and provided a bit of vindication to those whose trust in humanity had not cratered during the crisis. Stepping back from it now, it seems like their lives overlapped into one another, in the ethereal synergies of friendships, and physically, in their manner and dress. A contour drawing of one continuous line, eliciting eye and cheek, hairline and lapel. Friends are friends, one hopes, praying they don’t become something else. After even short periods of solemn absence, the noise of affection summons like a gathering bell, leading some to find their better places among other’s hearts.

–Danny Grosso