Retired pianist

Lines fine as spider silk that craze a surface once adored for sleekness, ripples where a frog jumped in, oh flesh that sags, corners that wander off true: with these very claws fumbling for the keys I have found a way to go on without regret. My love, oh world, I give you pearly everlasting. Let happiness spread like the spot in this November sky where the sun used to make a blazon of your virtues. Let outlines grow fuzzy, liberated from their shadows. Play all the fractional notes between white & black, hemidemi- semiquavers in milkweed pods, seed-clouds of goldenrod, bare branches. Their ordnance spent, freed of primary obligations, the empty casings have room for more world – rain wind snow wakefulness sleep – & thereby, my dear sir or madam, more resonance. More give. More play. Holding without having, we learn at last how to keep.