HOW WE DO IT, TARGA TIME
There is never a moment meant to be
('He promised to never leave me, ever.')
There is only hesitation, and wonderment.
Later, the spoils.
I try the hammer and it is not working.
This old piano had died many deaths in this corner -
faded, its lease on time long ago left the music behind.
We are therefore sitting back to wonder, and stare.
The usual spider walks across the floor, by me, as it
were, in friendliness. Outside the window, the wind
jams the tree into the shingles - which make then
the gliding, percussive noise we've searched for
these many times. Oh, now if only that piano could
work, this lingering band would be at once upon its
feet. 'We are nothing without the four of us,
thriving to the beat of imagined musics.'