How I wish my fingers
in the evening flowed
like the creek,
like wind through the trees,
like a late summer’s gentle rain,
like the deepening orange-red sunset,
like the darkening eastern sky,
like her fingers dancing
across the 88 black-and-white keys,
like the music she creates
swirling and ebbing and dancing
out her door,
across the porch,
through the grass and leaves.

Instead, my fingers
bang bang clickety-clackety
across black keys
with white symbols,
creating not beautiful sounds
but only words
I hope will ebb and flow
and move.

If they are read.

Otherwise, that obnoxious
clickety-clackety noise
is the only sound
the peaceful evening will get
from my flying fingertips.

#NotaContest