The best part, of course,
is dusting the keys, sliding
the damp rag
from top to bottom, from high
notes to low,
over the blacks and into
the valleys of the smooth
long whites, how
a showering of music then
fills the room.
I nearly wish there were
more work
to do. Sometimes I forget there
is joy to be found in just touching
a thing, though
I have touched it a thousand
thousand times
before. How the skin meets it
anew. Sometimes I forget that
I know what
a hand can do, oh the smooth
of it, oh
the slide, the skim, the skate of it,
oh the slipping,
the flutter, the long and longing
(remember?) glide.
This is a great one, a keeper for sure. I see how you’ve shaped it like a keys too, a nice touch! And the ending is so lyrical, so musical, the sounds of the s, the playing of some keys over by repetition. Nice.
For all this, I do have considerations, a snip or two, because this music here is so strong.
“I nearly wish there were …” The “there were” here is too prosaic for this piece,
especially when it’s emphasized by the close line, “Sometimes I forget there is..”
On the latter, a simple fix: Sometimes I forget the joy to be found… On the first, I’m not sure what to suggest. Perhaps “I nearly wish for more work…”
Anyway, it’s wonderful. Play on.