I played a piano with another’s hand.

I pressed the keys with pristine justice.

The song untouched and wholly pure.

It was something I could never be completely.

To be that whole and so complete.

Something that was only held by me in a dream.

I came to play a faster purity.

The piano set itself a flame.

Someone stopped the victrola.

My stranger’s hands hit a wrong note, when stopped.

I was in my room, no piano, no fire, no stranger’s hand to play

My song for me.