397

MILES DAVIS : Footprints

Another fork came down from the high bank

And we were sure that a fire had started

Under the cliff. Mallow cloud drove in gusts

Over the ridge under the cliff where a fire

Had started, a yellow shroud wove in bursts

Out of the break of dry oaklimb, wafted

Its spinning expulse in frame of an image.

I was waiting for my father to come

And the sparks brote, forming his image.

Sparks, composite : cheekspark,

Eyebright, nostrilflare, earwhorl, burnt

Tongueslick, flimmering beardglut.

Spark spark spark blowing down

Out of darkness, blowing up in shaked lights.

Mallow robe I allow to fall

Holding my shoulders as a fighter his.

As the night expends itself, we carry the body

Up out of its shawl.

I hear his voice in the intermediate darkness,

Where I am a child and know no name

Than what he in rough utterances perform :

Stay when he bid stay, come when he bid come.

The pale of the earth is flooding up again.

I brush ashen soil from the cloth of my knees.