he plays easy like there’s no line and no page
like he’s never seen a stage, like polishing
old wood and ivory in a lazy parlor reverie
playing in keys he can’t even explain
what they mean, but he hits them clean
falling notes tinkle soft like rain on crystal
never heard any sound as fine as the fervor
his fingers make… the whole room vibrates
and his hands don’t need his eyes, they stay on mine,
and we sip pianissimo, dolce, like wine













29 old applause
