Your music,
composed with a tender ear,
searching fingers on piano,
takes me to a magical place
in the middle of an ordinary day.
Serenades, Symphonies, Orchestral
words spoken in the language of notes,
dissonance and harmony created
to convey thoughts, feelings,
tributes to love and loss,
loneliness, happiness,
war and peace.
The random art on
the media player screen
forms a Yin Yang symbol,
and I think it's ironic,
you sending me Zen through
your music, my Korean friend.
Then it forms a cloud
that cradles me inside
of a resonant note;
a hand reaches out,
pulls me in, and I stop
focusing on the notes,
the images on the screen.
I close my eyes and
let myself try to feel,
as you did while you
wrote the music,
listening the way
you intended to be heard,
the ghost of your fingers
playing the music,
for one brief moment,
for me alone.
Vespers in the air,
virginal white
lingering then
dissipating
into my black tulle
scarf drapes,
candlelight,
and stars as bright
as they are in
a Colorado desert
on a crisp
wintery night.