These hands have scaled heights
climbed mountains
pressed more emotional levers
than even their owner can recall
By the sweat of their brow
the dedication of their best years
they’ve come out the other side with fingers more nimble
than a gymnast that can perform a handstand on a thimble
The ringing of the keys arpeggiating in thoughts and dreams
has arrived to a point where even in their absence they are being pressed in their mind
Once they had to rotoscope the music
now music traces over their hands
sweet synesthesia of muscle memory and command
Hours and hours and hours
and days and days and days
and months
and years
and all the ways
in which the pianist had to force and invent
to reach mastery only now having met
and they can’t even begin to imagine how to explain it all yet
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