In Central Park, it was possible to play
with his memories near the lake.
He was an alien, a legal alien
in this historical place.
The relaxed jazzy music was totally
different from its mentation but it was
a way to keep contact with the past and
its nostalgia.
He had listened to a small band in this bank
of the lake and he wanted to share this memory.
His fingering was the same
as he used with his clarinet.
But the power of this new instrument
was even more impressive.
It was an instrument for the others.
Made for them.
Exclusively.
And this way was his own.
No matter what the others said
he was himself
a real chameleon
in the Park.
And each of his moves was a  piece of Time.
Link.