And it was a fine drizzle
the kind that hangs in the air
longer than it should
ignoring the gravity of things

By the railroad tracks
through little bleak Sun
an old falling house
and all the paint was gone

Some black fairy made me
yearn for majesty without consequence
I worked on the railroad
I could write Beethoven’s piano sonata 14
from memory, it was just one thing

There was an ornate piano in the house
in the front room
the front room
it had almost succumbed
to mold and gravity
but it had not burned
to the ground

I would take a
lion’s foot from that piano
I kept it a long time
Then one day it was gone
I don’t know where.

I don’t remember now
if the piano was white
although I like to imagine that
it was white

The piano house was separated
from the railroad tracks
by dusty weeds and bracken
and a small grove of trees

I have not confessed that
until now;  that I knew
the house was there
the house of a black fairy
and ascending clear notes

I wanted them joined somehow
but they were too far apart
for my whole life.