too much music notes and late nights.

grand, ah grand and
double grand she has
hands of copper leaving green
sea salt marks and
soft, she keeps
me thinking she's soft

[not soft - a new word - new - more like ice]

and no, she's not. she's hard she says
she's tough she says and really

she's a suite,
a sonata for
a piano i prepared

[two wooden spoons, red felt, a china dish and spring that twists
among other things]

so i could find my percussive
center,
like a hard middle to her
soft-outside-inside-new-ness.


she's a sunshine, a moonbeam, a practical magic

i don't usually comprehend but call
instead
friend
and think of fondly.

she's my prepared piano suite/sonata
and i write down our days

[exposition - development - recapitulation -
a too long lingering coda]

and try to chart when/where we

are heading, where we'll collide again. do you know? and
when will you
tell me



[because, in truth
i miss you.

even the stupid things
especially the stupid things]