Breath gives life to
saxophone's moist, centered reed,
finds sacrament in jazz vespers.
The history of sanctus,
sotto close to southern
blood of hand drawn
light. It's summer somewhere
pumiced to a shine.
Wind has body, turns
pale breeze filling hollow
night with the geometry
of softly open window.
By morning, present tense
will seem scuffed intonation
an invented room of
free poured sweet containment.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment