The Piano Speaks

After Erik Satie For an hour I forgot my fat self, my neurotic innards, my addiction to alignment. For an hour I forgot my fear of rain. For an hour I was a salamander shimmying through the kelp in search of shore, and under his fingers the notes slid loose from my belly in a long jellyrope of eggs that took root in the mud. And what would hatch, I did not know— a lie. A waltz. An apostle of glass. For an hour I stood on two legs and ran. For an hour I panted and galloped. For an hour I was a maple tree, and under the summer of his fingers the notes seeded and winged away