One step, two,
the march of funeral feet
slaps leather to pavement
and jazz for the dead.
….blow mighty the horn of Gabriel.
Tambourines snap under white
parasols and spotless suits;
angels watch in jealous pain.
…the band lifts spirits beyond the grave.
Black hands and red fingernails
hold fever tight handkerchiefs,
waving parade air
to living and dead.
….songs never leave spirit ears.