Write Down the Mischief
Let the trumpet borrow
a little midnight from the blues.
Let a robot voice
try on the crooked grin
of a harmonica.
These are possibilities,
still waiting for their sound.
Your list makes unlikely neighbors:
the quartet beside the electronic hum,
a rough low phrase
with a bright flute answering,
an old rhythm
meeting a new kind of pause.
Some combinations may stumble.
Leave enough space
to discover which can move together.
And keep the choices.
Write down the grain of the voice,
the instruments invited,
where the echo was meant to fade.
Give the song a name,
and give its intentions
a place beside it.
A style file is a small companion:
plain words carrying
the shape of an experiment
after the moment of choosing has passed.
It cannot hold every sound.
The recording keeps its own evidence.
The notes keep another part.
Together, they offer a later beginning
something sturdier than a guess.
There is delight in this proposed gathering,
in all its mismatched shoes.
There is care in labeling
what actually arrives.
Let the music surprise its plan.
Then save the difference, too.
A living journal can remember
the invitation
and the unexpected guest
without confusing them.
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