Last night, I listened to a radio tribute
in my hotel room
looking south at Third Avenue's
traffic running north.
It was late, but I adjusted to New York time
listening to Ella as headlights ran uptown,
speeding and halting, silent
from the third floor.
Today I missed her tracks as I stood
on the subway platform,
out of kilter, out of step.
No golden notes
tipped into the dish.
Not to scale.