i found coltrane west of madison wisconsin
i search a car radio search
and find coltrane
by a farmer’s field
fifty miles west of madison.
his blue sax comes on low
like a car
on a highway
hard edged,
sharp enough to shave with.
straight and thin
and smoother
than the notes
falling from the radio.
i drive by
a forgotten battle field
where i can
rent a canoe, buy fireworks.
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while his blue sax rises among
farmers market,
classic cars
that sit adored
in a thousand acres
of soybean,
great arches of irrigation
beat the
earth for food.
his blue sax searches faces
of a long line of doctors
and lawyers on expensive
motorcycles passing
on their way to south dakota
to play low for a week.
the blue sax rises higher harder.
coltrane blows precise
a roadless man
the sax drives through me,
around me
and then
it falls.
coltrane winds down
and i can
breathe again.
