whenever I hear
Scarlatti’s “per la nativia di G.C.”
it brings tears to my eyes

must be the frequencies
of sounds and voice
that conspire
to touch a source of my being
of which I know not

embodying a loving harmony
I have been longing for
without knowing

simply beautiful

Yochana says she plays
beautiful music
but I have no way

of knowing unless
she plays for me  
so we get

to the music room
in school before
Miss G arrives

and Yochana opens up
the piano and sits
and begins to play

some classic stuff
her thin fingers
going over

the keyboard
with ease
making beautiful music

I watch her sitting there  
I'm by the door
as look out

taking in the music
looking up
the corridor

then back at her playing
her thin body moving
gently side to side

her hands moving
back and forth
visible then invisible

then I see Miss G coming
she's coming
I say

and Yochana stops playing
mid tune and it hangs
on the air

like a wounded bird
and Yochana goes and sits
in her chair by her desk

and I sit at the back
of class waiting
for the tune to go

and dissolve
taking in Yochana's
dark hair

and slim waist
and the remembered kiss
waiting for the tune

to stop
and the arrival
of old Miss.