Fling the Air
The door is opened
By temptations of clover,
Lavender, and roses
The swirl of air flinging
Escaping smells adrift.
A black piano bench
Worn so smooth I see
The wood grained from use
Incessantly yawns
Giving up its treasures
Sheet music, lyrical
Compositions, and not
many blank pages.
Deeper I tread into this world
Of music and harmony
Past the tightly strung bow
Leaning against the antigue stand
And the old books well read
Until my gaze is returned
By three lonely bottles
Full, in their places unheeded
Escape impossible.
And then I think,
Did the air fling their scent
Or did they fling the air?