Hurt and Purity

 by Sam Flot   2002

The lighter’s flame breaks the 6 am dawn

As I take the sacred sacrament

Before the Church of Miles

Today’s selection is from Tokyo, circa 1973

When and how does he breathe?

Staccato bursts by definition

But he redefines the word

Soft, subtle nuances slowly appear through morning’s wake

I realize, hearing with prior knowledge, the ordained genius

I knew he was good by hearsay and initial listenings

But now my court knows the truth by proclamation

The evidence has been digested and remains true

All the while the insistent wail urges on

Incomplete of itself

Searching vainly to find

Acceptance

Charity

And Love

His music is his soul in a blender

Minced and chopped

Pureed and poured back out

Through the lungs 

To the cold, cold metal

Appropriated by his fingers

To be sent to the winds

Crying a legacy of misunderstanding, hurt and purity

Through his horn

His pain, our pleasure

I hope he’s at peace

That his soul can rest

All the urgency replaced by contentedness

Happiness and above all peace

I hope Miles’ soul feels peace

I think he does

I hope he does