A delicate ting in the empty room
I run my finger slowly down the key
Idly, lightly my left hand brushes
The black, the white
softly
Quivering light from the candelabra
Flickers in the half filled flute glass
A cork lies near the edge of a water ring
In the dark wood finish, the stain retreats
Beneath a slender green bottle
I shift my slanted posture
Following a peeling panel my eyes
Find the dots and slashes on the page
The flurry of pen strokes jostle, they breathe
In and out
My stare falls to my fingers on the yellow ivory
I absently, deliberately arrange them
Copyright © 2008 by Layne Cockcroft
All Rights Reserved
