joyful girl
she manipulates
the ivory
as a prayer --
this woman's
sacred joy
ritual --
hands grace
keys that
wait for
her touch,
she makes
love with
her instrument,
like female
phoenix rising,
exultation in
each note --
she storms
the polished
wooden vessel,
taking no
prisoners --
rhythms fast,
then slow,
intense pressure,
fingers melting
into magnetic
black and
white that
scream her
meaning --
crescendo, crescendo,
vivace, fortissimo even,
then moderato,
moderato, largo,
pianissimo,
but always
appassionato,
appassionato,
appassionato
phoenix blooming
she rises, this woman
and-a-half, the
unbroken broken one --
through fairy-visions
bright with promise,
she dreams -- not of
ophelia's tragic
garland, but of
eastward soul-journeys,
and a love song
as pure
as
her
emerald
eyes --
she bleeds words
with grace of
angels, as if the
moon itself were
listening, and the
stars hung
on
each
crimson
utterance --
victorian princess,
this woman
and-a-half, she
steps out into
a new world,
plucking flowers
to weave her
golden
crown
along
the
way.