This is a revision of a poem from my book “Ideas of Improvisation”. This poem—to me—is in conversation with the Terrance Hayes poem “At Pegasus”. The ghost poem reads “nightfall —the wind spills spirits into lyric”. I’m really proud of how this finally turned out.
THE COLTRANE IN YOU
por il miglior fabbro
Meaning that which
nightly probes
the first oh
of what emotions
your dark matter
now splays open.
Meaning inky-haired
& lightheaded,
you begin to trace
a circle at your center
pondering if
in a reunion
of broken things
a portrait of the Beloved
could be Euler’s Identity?
Meaning since the tint
can serve at least half the sound
and apostasy can loiter
on the tongue as a lozenge,
both of you—cartographers
of a changing terrain—
seek to phrase
which shade of faith
versus gothic of god
moves past mere ode or elegy.
Meaning at the wheel
of the warship of worship
you vie for the root of unity
to unravel extended chords
which could move to maroon
in the bluest mountains
of duende.
Meaning certain starred charts
—once incomplete—
may soon become guide
in a bitter suite
as incensed ropes of smoke
muscle music from hunger
also heard as play
—how want
might prey to probe
the pouty mouth
of imagination
or query the angel
and lion of Evangelion.
Meaning the same L
which links them—
archaic name
for god or
vernacular for loss—
may seek to superpose
a word in the world.
Meaning what if
the “good news”
also concludes
the Beloved
favors Apophenia?
I don’t know
if all musicians
learn at least twelve ways
to kneel and kiss the ground,
but surely the second O
of said emotion
moves around ensō
in modulation,
meaning how
to be drawn
into a circle of fifths
or to Picasso keys
into a piano’s grand motif?
Do we re-choir
the “Acknowledgement”
of our father?
Meaning a relative minor
to greater absolve
any resolve for “Resolution”
or a full-hipped logic
to Bearden the burden
of our double basis
until battered sticks shatter
and every Zildjan
begins to shiver
like symbols
brushed by the breadth
of what you seek to recite
through your horn
as “Psalm”?
Meaning since a talent
may also be a weight,
your gift gives pause—
or purples in turbulent
“Pursuance” of relief,
wind from a box
spills uncertain bottled spirits
—e pluribus unum—
as if God is an American
Sonnet massaged
into Wanda’s hands.
Meaning what
of his or your petitions—
four chanted
or enchanted syllables
—signed by two lips
bobbing about
a Brooks theory
of the lyric
between lines
that nightly twist
to conflate or conflict
becoming
wholly writ?
