The world sifts through my window screens
warm, soft air pressing up against my bare legs
a neighbor girl laughs through the black night
it’s to late to be neighborly
but still they talk
and the dogs bark
my brother’s piano music floats up to me from the first floor
and I wonder if the people walking
stop to hear Chopin’s light tones
turn to jazz and then to something distinctly more baroque
as the thunder clouds roll in.