Detroit Jazz Festival

Sonny Rollins, Detroit 2012

Bracketed, your back to the river, ghosts

of the Bluebird pressing in from all sides,

Great Silver mane lolling ‘neath a Blue Moon,  

luminous binary orbs cast spells, shed

light, feed at tables laden on the dark

side, fuel for the cradled machine you waltz,

familiar caress of brass pearl and reed,

come down from the mountain in billowing

white robes that twine through your sinuous tones.