Improvization

The room is full of
empty sounds
and how one's thought bleeds
through another's vein.

Take this echo from my lips
and carry it atop your fingertips.
Don't be careful with it.
Make it push your heart
through your rhythm.
How else to call it
music? How else to make
your eyes shine enough
to wash all the rivers of
the world clean with a single drop,
carried less than careful,
from what was then
to now?



by jerry gordon
1.29.06
cafe independants, kyoto