A rumble shook me in the vacant night
not thunder building in the Gatineau
not land being blasted
nor the roar of surf on rock

no tremor in some Shield-fault underground
and not late transport traffic leaving town . . .

more like percussion
that racket when it broke
was sweetly crazy
as the start-up sound of jazz

lowdown with discordant throbs
gently    jolting    gutsy

music  --  and it shot
gladness ringing through my lonesome bones
aching from distance stiff with lack
when you called to say
you'd catch the next plane back