
Here is the title poem :
The Overture
Play me something
says the fisherman
as he lays her hands on the keys
takes his seat in the front row.
She takes her time
removes a layer of dust
from the piano’s skin
for this is her baby
her grand Russian spruce
grain long and close
crafted to stroke a clear tone.
She feels his eyes in the high
gloss of ebony sail,
offers him her time arranging his fingers -
schooled for tying knots
not netting melodies,
and hand over hand they practice the bowline
reef knot
the tying
untying.
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