Manuscript Contents

from unpublished manuscript
MEMORIES OF A JAZZ SINGER

WIND BLOW

Where does the wind blow, the air in Spring,
the sweet odors, the wildness, the ache like a Raga,
chained to earth, lifted by the sky,
the faltering heart?

Where does the hot wind blow
on hot jazzy nights
in a white Brazilian heat -
a climbing sweat,
limbs like silk, whispers and thrills.

She walks through the blues like a lover,
through seasons
turned Summer, pacing the cement cubes.
Toe tapping, jam session blood,
flying with the riffs, swinging.

And where, and where she walks,
when the wind blows in

© Michelle Marie Boleyn