NAME THAT CLOUD

The weather, he announced
to no one in particular,
ought to be musical or at least
incorporate some jazz.

Spring is bebop, Trane and Parker,
the sudden clash of Blakey
the downpours of Dizzy

and the hint of what’s to come
on the fingers of Monk, and
Kenny and Milt.

Summer brings the slow easing
as early Miles slides in, and we
sink nto Chet and Stan.

Bebop returns as summer fades
but turns harder, with Dexter
Sonny and Benny and we know

that winter approaches, with its
disconcert, the sun an ever
more infrequent visitor,

Ornertte and Pharoah reminding us
that the dark cold was our share
until Sun Ra apears on the horizon.

MILES FROM HERE

Some say Miles said

it’s the space

between the notes –
that’s where the music is.
We heard him, we smiled,
we anticipated the next
note and the next.
Outside my window
a blue jay
recites his morning prayer,
the child’s laugh
breaks the frozen sky
and shivers the maple.
Then all is silence –
even the wind
holds its breath
not in anticipation
but to create the void
that nature craves.
If we allow ourselves
in, Miles blows
the song of God
one
note
at
a
time.