Piano Solo Ė
in memory of Bobby Peterson

On the tables of the club romantic
flames flicker flick, certainly
a kind of clock. A new guy on piano
tonight. Letís be a great audience.
Fingers are to keyboard as droplets
to river as eyes are to blue. See
keys. See also contributary. See with
your ears a brittle film from inside
the piano works of a piano player gone
missing. Already wherever writing
original lost songs. (Fingertips
beyond us, a record.) Riff off
the weight of bodies going up and back
down. A staircase we know by heart.