Jazz and the flying trapeze

Diana Krall suddenly became the synchronous other-end-arc
of a feedback loop when someone sent me a link from Italy
that could be closure and finality
the beginning of this is obscure and ragged
it is difficult to use it as information

her chords and melodies hammer and collide
throughout this.don't think they are not there.they are as birds
dropping in flight.clouds of ash flooding the troposphere.flowers with bent heads

but two references to the unknown in a few days
means everything and nothing

I think of my uncle in a Lancaster bomber in 1943
young as black rainfall

think of Modernism and high boots sheening out

think of Sinatra and McCoy Tyner

the thrash of those marches

lost children in parks of dream
the attempt to hold them, to stop time

I am clutching in the night for omens
drowning face down in a reflected moon
reaching for poems that are too far away, too deep, too soon

.