Sink toward the door
day-weary and
full
of the eyes and pains of 15-minute
acquaintances
whose real questions I couldn’t answer.
Shoes off
Phone down
Backpack off (not for long)
Sink toward the piano
weak against the gravity
of the familiar, safe black
Black wood
Black keys
Black space—with stars
Familiar, predictable, wild beauty
from me.
Back to the backpack.
