an improvised "jazz" poem

by Stan Stewart

The wind moves along the surface of the lake as if it were checking to see what kinds of art it could make.

hip of the lake; basking there in the gleeful mix of expectation and slow meandering until it notices

a thrill-full shiver; then follows the round lines of lake’s belly which (naturally) ebbs and flows with breath. Ahhhhh, yes! Slowly, finding a rib cage which is no cage at all,

but a newfound sense of freedom, beaconing wind to a cleavage that invites it in and swallows it.

Wind does not mind, for it had hoped for — even