Piano keys write out
the notes of my life,
a high-low,
tempo-changing mess of
sharps and
flats that never stops or
pauses long enough for
the winds to
get their breath and
start the mess up
over again.

In a major
(minor)
key that keeps
changing on me
without warning
I stumble through the
staccatos and
glide along the
three-quarter notes
with an ease that
any dancer would envy.

It’s a crescendo’d mess
to a b section that
softens the blow
and the slow,
downward
slide back to
the starting point,
ending with a little
flare of dramatics
and then fading
slowly into a
silence followed
by massive
applause.