When Thelonious Monk and John Coltrane 
Play Ruby, My Dear even if you hate jazz you have to listen.
It’s a star blinking in a night sky, dozens of birds
Flying so fast across Central Park you’re amazed to see them.
Then it changes to saxophone and piano cake 
—bar and icing wedded in your mouth, your ear. 
The piano cites baritone profundo while the horn goes quiet. 
On top of the Grand, music is sounding a flock of gulls
Tuned to the wind, great bells tolling a distance 
You didn’t think you could hear — but you do. 
Then after a while the song finishes like a poem 
Where you know more is coming though you’re so filled 
with joy or comfort you don’t mind when it does —
Because Ruby, wherever she is, in whatever ville rouge or cozy dive
Listening to the local Rochambeau, says You’ve never heard
Anything like this and You don’t need anything else, ever.