His knuckles had never been the same
Since he touched the piano.
But he moved away from home, and didn’t
Own a piano, nor did his friends.
In his sleep, his fingers sometimes fluttered gently,
Releasing scales and rehearsing.
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2 comments:
"Releasing scales"!!! That is so good!!!
p.s. I wanted to ask you a question about my home series. I can't find your email. Would you email me. I am at la belette rouge at g mail . com. Just get rid of all of the spaces.;-)
There is something very poetic even about thinking about a pianist's hands, if you ask me. This poem is beautiful.
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