CHET BAKER'S BLUE NOTE
Take a note slightly flat
with barely a breath, listen for
a bird singing in that air.
The note departs slowly, sadly,
waiting while a cloud changes shape,
something almost promised.
The eyes cannot hold it,
the ears will not grasp its form
yet the heart remembers it well
as a wind tearing a map
from the fingers, watching it
blowing away, not chasing it.
© Bob Rixon