It was the middle of October 2018. I remember writing these verses clearly, as if it were yesterday. Euphoria came unexpectedly to my door and let the words spill onto the page.
They are still quite far away,
but I can feel their breath more than ever.
Swing warriors, bebop missioners...
Their fear is hidden behind 32 bars.
Not the Bible is their faith, but the Real Book.
They will come not for prey, nor in the name of fame.
They will come to help me spread the barrels of sorrow.
I feel the entire army standing behind.
I feel their confident and brave breath on my neck.
Their strings are stretched over brown, wooden pears.
Their hi-hats sound clocklike, and the cymbals are thrust into the ground like the shields of Spartans.
No wine in the golden horns. Only copper is to be blown out.
With one more breath, our ship is pushed away from the coast.