I have seen the stage lights play
the sly sagacity of Henry's smile:
the lightning on his lips, decades
dark with spattered starlight
coming back to his eyes.
To win words from that smile
that opens like a jackknife
drawing blood from parchment
spurting the sanguine melody
the black sage spun like spider
in fury wrapping Ayler's axe
it is a dream, unless the song
of '66 wire its sound and touch
the new decade... Blade slices
again in air, olive wood in bloom:
I have seen it. He has indeed stood.