The Cubist

Into contemplated shadow,
you step out of light.
You have designed
this plan,
your future.

In this fine room
the jazz fuses
the scene
while Cezanne glances over your left shoulder.

You begin to believe
that you are
tonight's King.

Two fingers
give you courage to place the ring
and make your claim.

Your jagged notes are brushed over
the edge of the brass and the snare
pulls your pulse.

Music mixes with the amber.
As you swallow them both,
you no longer
recall your doubt.



M. Scofield January 8, 2009