KS Culbreth

Brahms, Intermezzo, op. 118, no. 2

Pray, Sweet, lift not the lever till the note
With another from the soundboard resounds –
Beneath the padded hammers they together float,
Making chords of keys. A rhythm pounds
Out from two drums that never vary beat,
As two wings flapping, both one, create flight,
We waft upon a gliding sound that fleets.
The music lifting tapping wings just right
Could not be better tuned, nor more euphoric –
The twinkling ivory, courting birds, touching lips
More red than cardinals for shame, more quick.
Pausing only, those graceful fingertips?
— Between us are not the notes of discord –
— Pray, sustain forever our dulcet chord.