Shortest day of the year
And cold too,
water
Marled thick as quartz
In the collar
of the pipe.
Inside it’s Blue Mitchell
And Junior Cook
climbing
Up the same sweet sides
Of sound:
Nica’s Dream:
Silver hovering behind them
Like an almost
inaudible
Spirit, absenting himself
So well
the whole piece
Fills with space
And architecture
scaling
Its clear way through it.
This evening
I can almost
See the notes go shining
Out across
the falling
Motions of the year.
I watch
as birds flare
And time burns in the sun,
The fields
which are gelid
Blocks of light passing
Into darkness.
And think
Of the planet keeping time
Down all
its cold degrees,
How there are moments
Even for
such landscapes
When silence is a luminous
Resolution of song.
Blues for December 21st
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