Riff

the song is a long riff

played delicate like

at midnight in July

thundering when storms march

in battalions thumping polyrhythmic

oompahs

the song is improvised

over rumbles of a sliding scale

holding long notes that float

disarmingly

as water striders skating black splashes

where tumbled rocks wear green skirts

the song pulls wind into snarling trees

syncopating elements into a signature

timed

with layered passages of woods over brass

blue notes swimming down low

down there

in gravelgrinding undercurrents

eddying into echoes of echoes

of echoes

 

 

David Trudel     ©  2013

 

 

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