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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