If I could sing I would sing like Leonard, my voice deep with lust for the words that softly spill from my tongue, like a deep kiss that you can’t stop breathing in.

If I could play, I would play like Coltrane, Hawkins and Washington, moving my fingers as extensions to my soul, pressing down with the caress of ones fingers on your lover’s back for the first time. Intent, pressure, filled with the sound that makes every inch of you explode for more.

If I could dance, I would jump into the air like Mikhail floating in the moment as an eagle glides into the world but landing more like Fred Astaire, ready to move anyone in my way just enough to make them smile and no less then to let them know I am here for them waiting to be taken by their hand and to lead or be led.

If I could inspire I would look to Martin Luther King as he stood face to face with a world against his right and a wall surrounding his left and last chance to breathe freedom into a nation that neither understood what history would command of it or honor where it would go. I would write like Heschel who prayed with his actions and in so doing inspired a generation of thought. I would stand up, like only the greatest have stood, unfeared to tell the truth despite all the forces against it. I would humble myself like Gandhi and embrace the world both the good and the evil to spread love and inspiration. I would allow anyone to lean upon my shoulder always offering them my hand.

If I were a physicist, I’d ponder as Albert, moment after moment contemplating why the last was just the start of the next and vica versa. My focus wouldn’t be on how the center of a nucleus would explode but rather how the very same molecule could wrap it’s arms around its negative self In a manner akin to two people who once cheated on the other, or a nation who cheated on her people, awkwardly embrace the others trespassing and then find the way to apply that moment to the world.

If I could dream it would be as colorful as Kurosawa’s imaginary paint brush and Monet’s embracing landscapes, it would hold the structure of Campbell but only just enough to keep you engaged in every syllable I describe as I would want you to see yourself in my dream and my words and live it as though you could conquer any hurdle you perceived in front of you.

And again, If only I could sing, I would sing like Leonard, the inspiration of poetry and charm, slowly closing my eyes, bending down on one knee and reaching my hand out in only the way you can embrace each of my limbs knowing that embrace is the embrace we all desire and imagine our lovers capture us with.