There is music in the words you speak
from sunset to sunrise.
As I set myself down
to what sounds like John Coltrane's
Blue Train-with a slow incline
to a destination-Where?
I could not tell you
want to stay on and find out your destination,
Because you see at sunrise
when the spoken word ended,
I would also rise
no longer did it sound like a blues' train
for destination did not matter.
But more like-It never entered my mind.
A love jones that played in my heart
could not wait to hear at sunset
all to familiar
like morning dew
like words of
and I too search
for these are your words spoken