Softly now, a melody caresses the languid room:

It wafts in and out, high and low,

Traipsing aural boundaries

With slight, swift staccatos

Silenced by these slender, smooth legatos.

Sometimes, just sometimes, I hear the whirl:

A fluid rush of flesh slicing the air,

Of fingers gliding ‘cross the keys.

They whisper, feel, dance, sing –

Enraptured by the movement,

Drawn precariously into the moment

I watch the world fluctuate,

Rising, falling, rising and falling

With every warm breath,

With each flickering lash.