stuffed with stars

Horsehair, mahogany, talent and grace.

Long, tapering fingers strike ivory.

With a light touch pluck quivering strings.

Imperious arms stretch and swing taut, leading.

Burnished discs strike, clash and shiver.

Fingers dance, their masters bow, pose and play.

Symphony.

Beautiful day.
Cloud canopy hangs languidly low
Over still air that waits for rain.
For disturbance; for crashing drops,
Unheeding, wild, in frenzied millions
As though the sky itself, melting,
Fell.
The birds don’t understand- twitters
Force their way through quiet morning air:
Early risers don’t care about the sleep
Unbroken around them.
We lie
Lazily in bed, peek at the sky,
And murmur that it’s early yet,
And flop down, the Sandman’s dust
Catches the eyes, and we’re gone,
Rising later to find that we are late.