Sing in my ear
wild beginning
send your mother’s milk to nurture us
with your succulent fruits
of timbre
the fields in season and all the cold nights
to endure are done
the boys will gather round the drums
listening sentimentally
to the gift that brings together
the intended good news gospel
and the play of the good news blues
aromas of flower wild and edible
fade and fall apart with the petals
of a dying art
Miles’s singing sweet release bites
deep into your soul
his jazz player anger gnaws
and explodes at love
listening sentimentally as he blows
he knows of the birthing of new art
worth singing of
the value and the love that outlast
the intention of
all blues sentiments.