(…& i hope that God never turns off the stars)
for Bill Evans & Irving Berlin
out of the cool, in maiden voyages
of freedom–new orbits of soul, we
flew beyond the blue horizon
high above the canopy of a constellated caravan
movin’ towards the sun into “nothin’ but blue skies
…do i see,” where even the sounds
shine upon our bodies electric, dwellin’
in the invisible flames of our own sacred fire music.
we marveled as blue skies became the night
of a thousand eyes, illuminated by the sum of its stars
in a fusion of ubiquitous streams
& sanctified dreams. we marveled
as the lights fell in love with the jazz:
free & liberated since the moment it was consummated, born
within a rimshot of a riff stirred by echoes of the hawk navigatin’
’bout nocturnes that seek to speak of thunder
(that has overcome the s i l e n c e).
we marveled as the lights fell into a frenzy of jazz
for the sake of hands clapping, feet
stomping, hearts beating, tongues speaking
(enclaved in the pulse of prosody
awakened within us). we marveled
at the sweet serendipity accompanied
by the swing of the pendulum, where emotion
is a metronome summoned by rites
of rhythm more felt than heard
as though the drummer were the last word.
& i hope that God never turns off the stars
for that would mean the end of moonbeams
trippin’ the life fantastic in the crisol of creation.