Alabaster Moonsong

 

There's a kind of mellow, subtle stillness here
When suddenly the cloud divides
And lets the trumpet-summoned light gush down
To fill the space between the fugal breaths;
A moonlit silence in parenthesis,
Quiet bracketed in melody.
And then the music breathing in again,
Swelling with an ecstacy of sound
And moving like the truth in symphony
Towards a sweet, high flung, blue hosannah
Giving praise in jazz
Beneath an alabaster moon.

 

 

© Alex de Verteuil