Sometimes I sit at piano and shape chord-forms freely in space,
handsome constructions of arched fingers tugging opposing motions
in search of dissonance, evading harmony, while she intones beautiful
random sounds like words aimed at resonant chambers, her voice round
in the room with a touch of rasp to alert the world that she is kindred;
her melody shifts odd intervals and tempo-free meter, we float
in time and heart in perfect poise aligned without tonic, we resolve at will
or not at all the upper partials of our tension, we modulate

How often we’ve stopped mid-phrase and have kissed without losing tone or
the shape of our song!

Chagall 2017

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