Stillness (Just As it Was When I Was Nine)
The morning is quiet,
except for the sound of a plane overhead.
A car passing by.
Windchimes.
The cat going down the stairs.
The morning is quiet.
I do not disturb
the stillness in the air,
the promise,
with the sound of the piano.
Not yet.
I savor this quiet
with my breakfast
and breaking news.
The morning is quiet.
It is cold in the house.
I take a blanket
and watch the birds
on their morning commute.
I stay here,
in the silence.
Soaking each moment in,
taking no minute of it
for granted.
The mornings are quiet.
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“I do not disturb/the stillness in the air,/the promise,/with the sound of the piano.” Marvelous. What’s more, to me, the latter two lines of the section read as fragment, for reasons still eluding me (perhaps because I toy with a piano), really grabbed me. Pianos, as objects and even symbols (like a weighty, tenuous, remote, and exceptionally responsive alternate larynx), are incredibly important to me. The rhythm of the refrain, also, seems cleansing and bright as a bell. Nicely and appropriately meditative.