Her hands become
contemporary dancers;
swans across a mourning lake
of midnight and ivories,
their crystalline reflections
feather ripples
through time.
By candlelight,
she plays
till the sky
offers
rain.
Even thunder
can be gentle,
an outcry from
the north
caressing the tears
from a newborn.
Her treble clef
pirouettes along
rice paper and the edge
of a gale.
Her bass clef canon
urges an undertow
drawing the world
into the ballet of her staff.
Slowly releasing the weight
her ankles become lighter;
she ushers the storm away
and utters a dawn horizon
bordered by candlelight
she played
till we could breathe again.
—
© Jason Bricker, 2016