My soul has lift off,
the slow tempo of
my breath suddenly
boundless

My drums perforate
surrounded by a
universal register of
beats and measures
rolled into a mysterious,
melodic constellation

Dashing across the board
my fingers feverishly frisk
for the keys
of
Mozart, Prokofiev,
Rachmaninoff

With hammers and strings
I scale the sounds
of perfection
while properly perched
in front of
Grandma's Pianola
pretending to be
composed