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.