Final Answer

 This is a revision of a poem from my book “Ideas of Improvisation”. This poem—to me—is in conversation with—among other things—the Terrance Hayes poem “At Pegasus”. The ghost poem reads “nightfall —wind spilling bottled spirits”. I’m really proud of how this finally turned out. 

THE COLTRANE IN YOU

por il miglior fabbro

Meaning

either the angel

or lion that nightly 

probes the last oh

of whatever emotion

your dark matter

splays open.

Meaning inky-haired 

& lightheaded,

you begin to trace

circles 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

on a moving train—

seek to phrase

which supreme fiction

versus gothic of god

moves past mere ode or elegy.

Meaning at the wheel 

of the warship of worship 

you whirl as the square root 

of minus one extending 

chords which turn

to maroon in the bluest 

mountains of duende.

Meaning certain starred charts

—once incomplete—

soon become guide

in a bitter suite

as incensed ropes of smoke 

muscle music from hunger

also heard as hunter

—how want 

preys 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 certain

words in the world.

Meaning what if

the “good news” 

also concludes 

the Beloved looks

like Apophenia?

I don’t know

if sufis such as you 

learn all twelve ways 

to kneel and kiss the ground,

but surely the second O

of said emotion

can become ensō

in modulation,

Meaning how

to be drawn

into a circle of fifths 

or to Picasso keys

into a piano’s grand motif?

Do you re-choir

the Acknowledgement

of “our father”?

Meaning a relative minor

to absolve any Resolution

or a full-hipped logic

to Bearden the burden

of our double basis

ad battered sticks shatter

and every Zildjan 

becomes a shivering

symbol brushed by 

the breadth of what

you recite 

through your horn

as Psalm?

Meaning since a talent

may also be a weight,

your gift gives pause—

then purples

in turbulent Pursuance 

of relief,

wind from a box

spills bottled spirits

—e pluribus unum—

as if God is an American 

Sonnet massaged

into Wanda’s hands.

Meaning are you

Matthew or Mark

and what of Trane’s

or your enchanted 

or merely chanted 

syllables bobbing 

about a Brooks theory 

of the lyric between lines 

which nightly now—

as the angel or lion

conflates and conflicts

—begin to twist 

towards wholly writ.