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Dear John....

You played with pain and I heard you cry,
Blowin a song only understood
By you
And the god that whispered
A love supreme to your soul.
He must have wanted you
tradin licks with Gabriel
In his band after he heard you
Blow sweet salvation
At the Village Vanguard
Or Birdland.
Those were your cathedrals,
And your high mass was a forty-five minute set,
And you wailed for those that had an ear
To hear your gospel of tenor and sympathy.
You left behind a little piece of epiphany
To be picked up off the streets
By the junkies and the poets
Who can feel the voice of god
In your horn.

1998 Kevin Crone