by Quincy Troupe¹

    1.

    that day began with a shower

    of darkness， calling lightning rains

    home to stone language

    of thunderclaps， shattering， the high

    blue， elegance²， of space & time

    where a broken-down， riderless， horse

    with frayed³ wings

    rode a sheer bone， sunbeam

    road， down into the clouds

    2.

    spoke⁴ wheels of lightning jagged

    around the hours， & spun⁵ high up

    above those clouds， duke wheeled

    his chariot of piano keys

    his spirit， now， levitated⁶ from flesh

    & hovering⁷ over the music of most high

    spoke to the silence

    of a griot-shaman-man

    who knew the wisdom of God

    3.

    at high noon， the sun cracked

    through the darkness， like a rifle shot

    grew a beard of clouds on its livid， bald

    face， hung down， noon， sky high

    pivotal time of the flood-deep hours

    as duke was pivotal， being a five in the nine

    numbers of numerology

    as his music was one of the crossroads

    a cosmic mirror of rhythmic⁸ gri-gri

    4.

    so get on up & fly away duke， bebop

    slant⁹ & fade on in， strut¹⁰， dance swing， riff

    & float & stroke those tickling¹¹， gri-gri keys

    those satin ladies taking the A train  up

    to harlem， those gri-gri keys

    of birmingham， breakdown¹²

    sophisticated ladies， mood indigo¹³

    get on up & strut across， gri-gri

    raise on up， your band's waiting

    5.

    thunderclapping music， somersaulting

    clouds， racing across the deep， blue wisdom

    of God， listen， it is time for your intro， duke

    into that other place， where the all-time great

    band is waiting for your intro， duke

    it is time for the Sacred Concert， duke

    it is time to make the music of God， duke

    we are listening for your intro， duke

    so let the sacred music， begin

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