(after a recording by Sonny Rollins)
These blues are steel gray, you ride them. Jet trails
diagonal a cobalt sky. Silk wind
whips hair across your cheek.
between your teeth drives you.
Night drifts in with the honey scent of the viburnum.
The saxophone implores.
At the red light, the world's on fire.
You climb, pressed into the curves of each turning.
Come on oh come on oh come on baby please.
From here every splintered pain
Your body aches for miracles or sleep.
Sun, like god's one eye on you, is rising.
Copyright 1996, Diane Kirsten-Martin
Diane Kirsten-Martin's poetry is published in Hayden's Ferry Review, Yellow
ZYZZYVA, Blue Mesa Review, and other journals. Her work can also be
the anthology, Movieworks (Little Theater Press, 1990). She works as a
editor and lives in San Francisco with her husband and 14-year-old son.