Apr 01


The cover of the old piano spatters a cloud of dust into the old theater air
as it creaks on its hinges and settles loudly atop the black and white antique.
A shuffle of papers, the screech of the stool across the aged wooden floor,
as the young man sits down and prepares to create 
the canvas for the girl to paint upon with her voice. 
He lifts a single finger, places it on a low note.
The deep vibrato echoes through the empty space of the abandoned hall,
bounces and reflects in the dark void like a ripple of water. 
The man keeps pressing the key, making a steady beat 
as the skeleton of their lullaby.
Slowly, slowly, slowly,
his fingers hit different notes,
jumping about the piano like rabbits in a field.
And slowly, the song begins.
Weaving throughout the room resembling a river of melodies,
sweet, soft patters of harmonies move together as one.
When the time comes, the girl opens her mouth and sings,
forming a ship for her to sail through the ocean of music.
Together, they traverse the sea of their own creation,
each knowing the next pitch, next note, next step.
They play for no one but themselves,
the vacant, worn seats their only audience.
The pianist and singer don't mind,
as they continue to compose their own anthem,
their own secret that no one can take,
the last thing they can call their own.