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Playing Piano in the Dark
Your rigid fingers strike,
the keys arrest the air
with uncertain executions.
You are the executioner.
your fingers writing sentences
measure upon measure, restless.
The darkness hides the color
of your rhythm. Then you climb
up the crescendo arresting no longer the air
but your own darkness,
distorted symphonies of your heart
temporary epiphanies liberating,
running, not giving in
to the water beads in your forehead
in your hands, in your eyes.
These are not enough to stop.
You strike. You write. You arrest.
You execute --- fire.
I watch.
The darkness no more.
Then, I am lit.
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