Variations on a Theme by Cecil Taylor

“Rhythm is the space of time danced thru”


We came into the music

Like a walk in the forest


Clusters of chokecherries

Exposed tangled roots


Long crooked lines

disappearing deep

into the soft layers


silver birches dividing

themselves at the ground


lie triads do, and fourths,

long enough to hold


onto the light and leave

an outline of tonality

before dissolving into


coloured strata

we never dreamed about.


Old pastures hidden away

In the woods unmapped.


Sometimes walking in there

we get like the trees

caught up by the wind,


notes shaken, golden

undulating shift of

their grain in the sunlight


or like the wind itself

in the branches, invisible

except for what is moving.





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