Jazz rained down in rivers
catching out strong soul
and soft hands
rising to the call of music prayers
among blind angels
who fail on color
and possess great mercy
scattering dark thoughts,
lost eyes ,
and roads leading from home
and shoes speaking miles
and dirty hands
breathing out the land
with labor work
as cars roll by and tires splash
yesterdays puddles
turning up nations of dirt
as colors rich with rhythm
press the rock of flesh
draining the hate
and melting the change
of years of blood chains
and stiff straw
and bed songs sung to children
and Sundays
with amen’s rising.
Roger Singer 