Barbara Guest

Passage

for John Coltrane

Words
     after all
are syllables just
and you put them
    in their place
    notes
    sounds
a painter using his stroke
    so the spot
where the article
    an umbrella
    a knife
we could find
    in its most intricate
    hiding
slashed as it was with color
    called “being”
    or even “it”
 
Expressions
 
For the moment just
    when the syllables
    out of their webs float
 
We were just
    beginning to hear
like a crane hoisted into
    the fine thin air
that had a little ache (or soft crackle)
 
    golden staffed edge of
    quick Mercury
    the scale runner
 
Envoi
 
    C’est juste
    your umbrella colorings
dense as telephone
    voice
    humming down the line
    polyphonic
 
Red plumaged birds
    not so natural
    complicated wings
                             French!
 
Sweet difficult passages
                             on your throats
there just there
                             caterpillar edging
                             to moth
Midnight
                             in the chrome attic
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