We met under the bodhi tree
with chips for me
almonds for you
drink my strong coffee
out of a red carafe

We talk about hearing Mingus
places you drove your taxi
I talk about my shitty week
Remember Gayle, it’s the streets
and it’s war

I turn a corner expecting your
surprised face enveloping me
in a Richard hug you reserve
for old jazz boppers
even an errant funkster

We were listening to quartets
body and soul moving
to hip kats and kitties
speaking poems and rants

We sit under the tree
discussing Hughes’ haiku
and a Miles brew
your flute resting at your side
I wake up and remember
My tears falling in b flat minor
trilling coherent patterns
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