I JUST HEARD JOHN BUFFINGTON DIED
an incredibly bright blue almost white open sky
with distant puffs of slow moving cottony clouds
birds floating, brown kites with heart, feathers & song, it's
tom dent's birthday, he & i are sharing little moments like
i imagine bird & diz must have done off the stand,
maybe between sets or on a train, in a car, or just standing
on a corner, two creative, hip, sophisticated but unjaded
men savoring the spiritual charm of one love
tom tells me: john buffington died this day
driving back to my work space, negoitiating the laughing colors
of big easy street life i spy young black new orleans women
beautiful as only they can be, walk-swaying through
this infant soft afternoon giving gleam to the sunshine,
a feminine kaleidoscope of skin color, hair texture, body build
& dimpled attitude, ah yes, this life can be mighty good
there is nothing sad about today, the pine tree in front
of my office porch is laughing, the weather is an afro-french kiss
every nuance encourages contentment & the giving of thanx
to be here & now witnessing the wonderfulness of these moments
& yet john buffington has died
life is like that
even when it's fucked up it's beautiful
especially when beautiful, something sad
is going down somewhere—still like an eternal faucet
for every painful hole that death leaves
some other great goodness flowingly fills the gap
on some less enjoyable day when everyone i know is well
i will think back to the bittersweet bliss i tasted
on the afternoon i heard my friend john buffington died
& ironically identify the euphoric radiance of this death day
as a wonderous transitional tribute the creator
gave to the generous spirit of john buffington
—kalamu ya salaam