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Fingers like seeds blowing

for Stephen Kaye
by Kevin T. McEneaney
Tue Oct 3rd, 2017

The piano is a pleasant monster.

It can take your hand for a walk in woods,

portray a bouquet of flowers on table,

deconstruct the contours of your aura,

transform your ear into a gutter in storm.

 

The piano is a leaping monster.

Some even open it up

to tickle its insides for childish laughter;

it can easily paint a smile

on your face, lungs, or buttocks.

 

The piano is a legendary monster.

It may make your toes wiggle

or compel you to dance on wood.

Oh, how it loves to be

Ensconced by old wood!

 

The piano is a sentimental monster.

Speaking ten thousand languages,

it can split a heart in two

like an ax cleaving a birch log.

Or make you wonder who you are.

 

The piano is a tsunami monster.

It can bring tears to your nose

or flood your heart with emotions

that drown all noble thoughts

in forgotten memories.

 

The piano is a mythic monster.

It can conjure demons and saints,

images of infancy or lovers talking.

It is a time-traveling globe trotter

that can even demolish time itself.

 

The piano is a sleeping monster.

When mute it may invoke chords

that silently tremble in air:

arabesques of notes falling on petals.

The piano is the Sabbath of sunlight.