My piano sleeps,

In gentle mahagony purr.

I have been afraid to wake her. 

Avoiding a touch,

walking by,

without

stroking her fingers

even though I feel

the pull,

string to string. 

 

Last night,

I even looked up

the tuner’s number,

but I didn’t call.

I have it written down. 

 

It’s true,

sometimes, playing deep

into the night

I would suddenly bend down

to kiss those keys.

 

I just can’t start that up again.

I can’t wake up those feelings,

only to find that I am falling

into obsession,

perhaps illusion,

that my reality cannot support. 

I let her sleep.