Monday, April 09, 2012

When Jazz Is

Just that and not a note more;  the way 
       river herds water but doesn’t
        speak for the child on its shore, the bowed fishing 

       line cast into a string of sevenths,the hook which sinks deep 

       into grace, piano burning voice, 
metamorphosis, the moment when 

all sky disintegrates and the saxophone is finally landed.

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