Trane of Thought
Midnight glimpses round
Smoking down.
Dripping from his skin comes the shade
The cigarette haloes blow away
And the trumpet glistens,
Like a sharp smile of joy.
He breathes
Cool as dusk, soft as ashes.
Blowing crystal , glinting , scolding
Streaming against drumbeat pour.
New night sky colours flowing
Riot blossom of light
Scattering jade.
And the man
Like a statue in spellbound blue
Just looks.
Silent and distant
As the cloudy moon.
Chris Bird
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