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Attempting the Well Tempered Clavier

by Sarah Brindell

Your hands
Grace the piano keys
Like flower stems
Holding the sacred space
Between silence and sound
Fingers tipped like petals,
budding into bloom
I hear the dissonance unfurl
Sometimes slowed by
lack of knowledge
You stop and start in fits
Of slight frustration, but still onward
You tread, a steady motion
Not too fast
“No rushing,” I say
But you are completely lost
in the harmony
unfolding so effortlessly
As if Bach had intended
Just that, no thinking
Only emotion, ethereal oneness
You honor the register
Of the pitches
in the woods of the repetition
But back again
Onto the suspension and final cadence
You glance at me like an imp,
As if to almost gloat
At your feeble attempt
At the masterpiece
Still alive after hundreds of years
I can almost hear Bach laugh out loud
at our mere mortal love

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MARCH 1st, 2010

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