I stretch my span
for the low, low D, but
over-reach and hit a C.
The nocturne
bristles on its slender staves.
Clumsy hands grope to apologize—
they stutter and blunder
through intricate ornaments
and fumble in the chorale.
In my mind, it is so lovely.
I hear Chopin’s consoling swell
as the legato chords progress.
Oh curve of the hand,
I remember you well,
palm hollowed
so only the finger pads touch.
In my mind, there are
lovers dancing.
I keep my shoulders soft.
In my mind,
the moon appears.
the final stanza could also be a stand-alone haiku (multi-tasking again, eh?)
and, ahhh… the distance between imagined and realized.
“ineptitude” you’ve tagged it. i disagree, think that too harsh. (Ah, but a [person’s] reach should exceed [their] grasp/Or what’a heaven for? -Robert Browning, Andrea del Sarto, line 98)
I like that haikuling at the bottom! Hadn’t seen it that way. Also love this Browning quote …
It really was painful to listen to, though, I think, and ineptitude is perhaps being generous! An invitation to practice!
That image at closing is the softness the poem grates against and finally creates. Actually, the last three stanzas, very nice music there. And I like the musical rhyme of the first stanza.