Jess Burnquist

EVERYTHING FEELS PIANO
      —after Kandinsky

Or ocean.
Too deep to really know
And it just keeps whirling.

All at once my song is sad.
Deep sea whole note
Mourning for measures. And it is
Possible to miss music
Even when it fills the house.

If I were a virtuoso
At the piano, I would reinvent time.
I think Beethoven traveled
His way back to himself, to sound
His tympani-heart
Beating forte, forte
Moving visions into place
At the speed of symphony.

Children are at the piano again
It is like that. The pounding,
Their random semblance of song
Until they rise and once again
Leave the keys unsolved.

Jess Burnquist is a writer and teacher who lives in the Phoenix metropolitan area. Her work has previously appeared in Yew Journal, Persona, The Superstition Review, The Clackamas Review and various other journals.