I
jazz
I sing
I do
Just what
Feels good
I play
the notes
of it
I swing
and talk back
sound that’s right
I take the breath
through throat
and hold it
in the stomach
hit the fingers
on the horn
blow the jazz
that’s where it goes
next spring
I’ll go out to the garden
and with a stick
plant myself
and eat me in the fall
(in: Breathin’ My Name with a Sigh, Vancouver: Talonbooks: 1981)
After I turned
the corner
the rule was cod
and broccoli on rice.
I call this
Dedora’s Moment,
it’s that abstract.
We never take soot
into the backyard
unless we’re on the way
to work.
Where was that,
Carbonate?
Central asphalt’s new
100-year premium.
But that’s just
the thumbnail.
And it’s scrubable.
Books open
which is what keeps
things hopping.
For hope.
Set the draft
in the chimney
to “I fold.”
Having tried trumpet
stutter up front
as a slip
of the tongue
as the length of meaning fades
adjust the lips
on every second note
you learn the fingering
in the stomach
much like the taste
of metal
these are the keys
to this grave
C, G, A flat
B, F, F sharp
– major
each valve is designed
to extend
the moment of language
if she plants
in the spring
they eat
in the fall.


