Adagio

I still have nightmares about your hands.
Those long fingers
Designed to play the piano.
They chose someone different to play.
Knuckles wider than the rest.
I wondered if those fingers hurt you
Like they hurt me.
The questions I had at age five,
All of them divided into two categories:

Before
No longer breathing
After

When my world had stopped turning,
The stars had fallen out of the sky,
And I was no longer what I had been
Before
I even knew what I was.
There was nothing left but time.
Years were played slowly
With marked emphasis on
Everything
That was not said,
And I learned the key to survival
Was found in surrendering to
Everything
Except the notes you played.
In those, I disappeared
To a place
You were not able to touch.