What is there
to hear, here beneath the rain
falling?
The pianist across the street,
a poem being typed
after-thought,
above or under sirens and
howls.
Fingertips dance
with swollen pads
across the scales;
ivory teeth, black cavities,
chatter seeking vibration
or resonance
held in a line
that holds a tune.
Or thread of meaning-
unraveling feeling
and translating thoughts
not our own
into sound
between and beneath the horizontal cradle
where echoes may overlap hints of truth
there is a sense of unfolding
like pages turning
a chord is struck
accord is sought
or scores kept
for a record nobody keeps.
And all this may be
called
keeping time
as if melody were many things
more than harmony
knocking and sending
unanswerable notes
called music or just
muse.
Image credit:Baldomer Gili i Roig, Museu d'Art Jaume Morera, Lleida. 2555 c. Nov. 1899 in Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.
