Luminous [A poetry collection] ~ Canvas of Words

~ t h r o u g h t h e w i n d o w ~

I leave the window open,

just a couple of inches,
but it's more than enough
for the tunes to slip through the crack
and away into the cold air of the evening.

I turn up the volume
of the instrument,
for I want it to be loud enough
to be heard.

I take a seat
and look down at the keys,
black and white,
a contrast,
yet a harmony,
a harmony,

yet an unfulfilled dream.

I lower my hands
down onto the colors,
although they say black and white aren't really colors,
I don't care now.

I take a breath
and the harmony takes shape
in the form of a beautiful melody,
awaiting her freedom
in the form of learning to fly
through the cold air of the evening,
and into the night.

And then,
she flies,
she really does,
dances over the keys
like a fairy over water lilies,
grows wings and escapes
through the crack in the window,
forever,
into the cold air of the evening.

Whenever I play,
gift the music with wings,
for some reason, I hope,
that there's someone nearby,
near the crack of the window,
down the street, maybe,
in the house next door,
someone, who'll listen
and think to themselves,

what a lovely melody.

It might not be much,
just the gentle touch
of a sound
that kisses your ears
in a way that makes you smile,
I know it's not much.

But still,
filled with the hope
to make somebody happy,
someone out there
in the cold air of the evening,

I let my fingers graze the keys
and play the chords
and finish the piece,
and that's why

I leave the window open.