Soul surface.

I had dreams about brioche last night.  Isn't that weird?  I must've been hungry.

So I pulled this poem out just for kicks, and placed it ever so lovingly on my music stand, to see if it might inspire something for today's improv.  It's by my friend, Wendell Smith.

Soul Surface

We are eddies in an oil slick
on a surface we call time
and poetry
one way of being we
until the surface swirls
and the body
of a bird unfurls.

Here we go, Day 171: