a piano

when I see fingers
shaping sound in movement
so precise
so practiced
it’s easy to see the artist
and not the instrument

graceful curves
and keys in ivory and ebony
hiding the magic
of the soundbox

wires stretched taut
more than eighty-eight strings
because the high notes
are mirrored to give more volume
to the sound

hammers
hitting the strings
a single blow to make the note
vibrate, filling the air

dampers
red felt stretched and moved
to let the sound echo and fade
on its own
or die quickly
stopped

when I see fingers
artist and instrument
must move as one
each an extension of the other
coaxing
thunder crashes
junkyard screeches
fountain bubbles
bird trills
into music

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