The Pianist

What I did during the intermission of a piano recital I watched in 2021 instead of peeing

It is like threading a needle
the way her fingers tend to me
accompanied by owlish eyes.

Her hands masterfully braid my keys
in narrow, airtight rows 
with occasional trills that tickle.

At times I’d catch her glimpse 
into the horizon and smile contentedly 
at the taste of my nectarine notes.

Other times she’d take a reprimanding tone
and I’d feel the pain of ages of humanity
upon my skin.

When she nods her head
at the exactness of our touch,
it is the deepest knowing that we share.

And in this moment she is most alive,
her secrets bared by haunting tunes,
she remains oblivious to the fact that
I, too, am most alive.