Concert In The Old School Garret

                  Concert in The Old School Garret Poem

White fingers of the sexton sleep heavy upon us.

Half a century

Since anyone as much as touched this piano.

Let it sing again

As it was made to yesterday.

Phantom hands which strike softly or which thunder.

The forhead of this man heavy as the heavens before it rains.

And the springs,

Under the weight of excitement, forgot to squeak.

Half a century it is since anyone as much as touched this piano.

Our good friend, Time,

Sucked each figure empty like a honeybee which has lived long enough and drunk enough honey so that now it can dry out in the sun somewhere.

Under the closed eyes, another person sits

Under the closed eyes, he seeks among the keys

As among the vein through which the blood flowed softly

When you kiss them with a knife and put a song to it

And this man yesterday cut all the veins,

Opening all the organ's stops,

Paid all the birds to sing, 

To sing

Even though the harsh fingers of the sexton sleep heavy upon us.

Bent in his manners of death, you are like Beethoven 

Your forehead was as heavy as the heavens before it rains.