last night.
Past midnight when I try to let the thunder
rock me to sleep.
in the absence of it.
Chopin, toward Brahms, toward intensity.
I loved you with the power of a symphony,
now I play piano for carpet and ceiling.
There is a part of me that can love anyone,
that needs to. I try to perform, but my hands
are shaky, my fingers thick.
Do the keys pity me?
Crash of thunder.
Lullaby.