the hands still know which keys to press,
how to stir the air alive
in clustered arabesques rain-like,
notes pouring from some reservoir inside,
certain currents flowing through the wrists
guiding fingerips through rapids of stacotto,
silt-blended chords, and triplet rivulets--
a sense of movement, flashing scales, rolling legato.
the page of lifeless markings a faded half-dream, but etched
deep into bone and nerve, else than memory: a flow
refracting light all through its endless depths
the hands still know these keys: out pour the notes
carried in the stream
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