Passage

for John Coltrane Words after all are syllables just and you put them in their place notes sounds a painter using his stroke so the spot where the article an umbrella a knife we could find in its most intricate hiding slashed as it was with color called “being” or even “it” Expressions For the moment just when the syllables out of their webs float We were just beginning to hear like a crane hoisted into the fine thin air that had a little ache (or soft crackle) golden staffed edge of quick Mercury the scale runner Envoi C’est juste your umbrella colorings dense as telephone voice humming down the line polyphonic Red plumaged birds not so natural complicated wings French! Sweet difficult passages on your throats there just there caterpillar edging to moth Midnight in the chrome attic