I provide the needle;
without it there’s no music.
The needle makes things flow.
If the needle leaves a scar, So What.
He’s a Nardis, Miles’ gold horn
rests still and cool. Then caressed
by hands and breath, a focused flow
of vibrations emerge from embouchure
at one with mouthpiece as dancing fingers
modulate a tonal enhancement with mind to
mind focal enchantment from trumpeter to listener;
sounds stir, penetrate, haunt, crack, break in
rapid staccato, then stream clear straight
notes ending in soft muted hush.
Trane, Cannonball, Bill, Jimmy
and Paul are one with Miles.
The needle scars keep “click time”,
as music flows from the groove;
it’s a time travel ticket to 1958,
I’m On Green Dolphin Street.