On My Desk

[wasellajam]

On My Desk
 
There is a single hand
rendered in greys shadowed
to cool aubergine; fingers
lithe, but not without aquiline
intention poised above the keys.
 
Is it Rachmaninoff or a Bach
fugue in minor C
with hopes of a happy third,
 
or simply a pause amidst
the drizzle of the snare,
rainy day jazz,
angry with the saxophone
leaving me longing
for the D minor on the down beat?
 
Each day the hand plays
against a backbeat of silence.

I got a framed drawing standing on a a desk, a figure study of a hand. I'm fine and clear with it, not sure on whether or not it includes the keyboard or if the N's imagination starts there but I'm fine either way, in the room.

I enjoyed the wondering of what music was in the air and enjoyed the options the poem gave me. You might end on "down beat", for me the silent room came across without the last lines.

Thanks for posting it, an interesting read.