What about the sound of fingernails clicking
on ivory keys?
Does it distract you from the ringing,
from the pinging, from the singing
in your mind like the rolling rain?

Shining a flashlight under the hood of the casket
To see the broken glass intersection
Where I met myself
In the reflection of the car window
Through slicing drops

Those yellow sheets still piled
Under the piano bench-
music that can’t be played,
because the thing built
out of wood, ivory and hammers
is silent now.