THE PIANIST

by William M. Peaster

the pianist’s hands ache
from that blistering burn of the keys
they must press;

and beyond practice room windows
seagulls hover in the wind,
like how a song hovers in the hands

or how a mind hovers in its flesh—

the song is not broken
though the hands, yes, they
may break.

Note: You can find "The Pianist" and 150 other similar poems in my recently published volume of poems, Phantastikon. You can also read my last post, "14 Original Haikus by WMP," on Steemit here.