Piano Keys

The piano is grand, a sleek ebony king,
but sadly unused, dust layers collecting.
It sits by the window, unable to sing,
till a little girl finds it and begins playing.
 
She sits, fingers hovering.
Then,

Her fingers dance across the expanse
of pearly piano keys.

Skimming
fast
then
slow . . . then arpeggioed, weaving silky-smooth melodies.

Her fingers ping-pong
along
the old, hallowed
song,
of Beethoven's Für Elise.

The volume diminishes, notes slur  as   she    finishes,
then she skates into the next piece.

And she plays.
And plays.

Dark, chocolate tones of a resonating sonata,
                         high, desperate, dropped-nickle plinks.
A cliffhanger fermata —

Then the rush, the waterfall,
cascading notes,
splashing
down
down
down.
A deep chord.
Then the melody floats.

It swells, it builds, it raises its voice, explodes to a soaring crescendo,
then it sweeps down low,
it hushes,
it slows.

Her fingers dance across the expanse
of pearly piano keys.

They slow to a stop;
the volume drops.

And the last note fades like a breeze.

The End

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