Redstone Sunrise

Throughout the night
there was only the vast
emptiness of an
unknown sea
underneath,
giant waves
washing away a landscape
that had names,
colors,
people,
voices,
faces,

but they all seemed to be sucked
into tiny points of light,
crawling painfully,
slowly ––
like bugs or dust
or lost traffic signals
that had become
detached from poles,
wandering aimlessly.

The lush green of Seattle
for which I often lusted,
lamenting that the caravan
seem to be stuck
in some desert rut,
bogged down in desolate dunes,
where trees were exotic,
mountain scarce
and people all seemed
to be from somewhere else ––

but,
the reality is
I was never around long enough
to really know
where anyone was from
because they were all framed,
always
within the chrome borders
of the rearview mirror.

It was reminiscent of the
summer of '66,
where I spent many hours
on Coronado Beach
watching crabs
click sideways,
blowing bubbles
as I built cities
at the water's edge
and watched them dissolve
with each new wave.

This new, dark, sea
beneath my feet
dissolved it all,
a cosmic tidal wave
that left only slide positions
on my bass trombone twitching
my fingers,
my neck,
my lips ––
whispering arpeggios,
glissandos
and pedal tones
over and over
until the sunrise
revealed the beauty
of redstone urbanocity ––
the Hub,
Bean Town,

Boston.

josjr (2012 1003)
stowaway in Boston