Alone, a piano slowly plays
In the time that dropped in front of me,
piles of pearls would have to string themselves.
A song I heard plunked high and cold.
In the octave I picked out the dark.
In the head stung by pearls,
which are song, I couldn’t bear a tongue.
It is the biting tooth,
tooth which punctured tongue.
This song once heard may only slowly quicken,
since the white even keys do not touch,
and there is no space between as hidden notes hit.
Two cold hands never stop being played
nor does one attempt to warm itself
on the other I’m afraid
I might say, the piano has bit its lip,
and think of the tinkling now as embers
fed by fanning quiet, winded seclusion.
What I wouldn’t do
to silence myself.