by Mervyn Taylor
They say that Miles, at one
point in his career, forgot
how to play. Once,
in Central Park, we held
our breath while he took
so long between notes,
we were afraid something
terrible had happened. But
then the clearest sound
broke the silence and if
he’d walked off, we’d
have followed him into
the reservoir. So he
must have been practicing
leaving that same space,
that interlude where
the cleft untangles itself
from the rest of the world,
forgetting to call to us
across the universe,
Here, Faithful, here.
Poem copyright 2023 by Mervyn Taylor. All rights reserved.
See two more poems from Mervyn Taylor debuted on The Fight & The Fiddle: “Evening,” and “The Blind Storyteller”
Read more in this issue: Interview | Critical Essay | Writing Prompt