On Reading Eliot's 'Preludes' or After the Jam

1.

You spoke of me tonight,
in nineteen hundred seventeen.
I did toss the blanket back
this morning. Now I write
and in the kitchen lean.
Only no cab horse stamps.
I've come home, made quiet
and a half glass of juice.
Unblocking the sluice
a daffodil wind blows
in soft glows over the alley
over voices, smoky, drifting hushed.
No light eager, no hand rushed.

2.

The half glass is orange,
the plants wear earthenware.
My energy's to spare-
thank gOd you came drumming.
The carpet felt my humming!
You brought guitars, whole voices
finally graced my room.
The room where I teach
and have craved the reach
of a new vibration: harmonies
of three- we- a constellation
in blues, making the merry way.

3.

We connected. I read
until my jewel of Indra's net
was still, afire, set
in synch with yours.
My slow city tours
passed cornered men and cats
owning their respective hats.
All fur and ears-
all rattles and cheers! Thank goD
you spoke and heard;
so evenly drummed;
I at last with evening hummed.

4.

The place I toil was beset
with newness of old sound.
A soul clean rising
and voice come around.
All my musical workings
hung like raindrop lurkings
over the day, the green.
There is so much to mean
in a city at rest;
classrooms made holy;
simple eyes
beholding what they see;
night, like words in time,
stealthy, slowly, free.