Romance (For Amy)

ROMANCE It was something by Schumann or Schubert A Sonata for piano perhaps I wouldn’t have cared But the music fit the girl Flawless in dress Hair not short not long middling It swept just mildly over forehead and cheek Cupable shoulders And the rest? Not a line not a curve too severe She came at the same time each day I strained to see her face. But my view was taken just far enough away The vision much in profile I must revel in her stride Not short not long deliberate Just right In a flight of fancy With missing dimensions of the physical time and space I decided she was form-in-isolation A shape behind a scrim Always coming Always going Leaving her ghost in wake And the door would softly shut A little space for dreaming Then this same piece It was something by Schumann or Schubert (no matter) Each day played with more polish ‘til at last it sounded perfect to me I must know that which she played Its name (lack of) haunted me This was my excuse My excuse for knocking on the door