The ghost of bebop
from 52nd Street,
left footprints in the snow.
A Cab passed, in the yellowish night,
a drunk volatile
with a goose-step, almost
gave a kick in the stars.
Slid under the door
of the Three Deuces the blues.
The street was a cold mirror
when it rains, now remember
a mantle of ermine
the lap of Lady Day.
2008