Spilling
from an open window
like morning tides
creeping wet and slow
into tidal basins,
a horn from the second floor
washes to the alley below
between red chipped
brick walls.
Shadows form
the coolness of notes,
like stars falling under
a black heaven
pushing the beat
of jazz as a man pulls
the sound
with deep breathing
into his knowing
where understanding
grows Greater
with each breath.
Roger Singer 