His hands glide over the keys,
beginning a slow and tender dance.
Softly, they move back and forth across the
ivories together.
The music echoes like a brook rippling over
pebbles or a light drizzle pattering
on the window.
Drip.
Drop.
Drip.
Splash.
Sparkling lightly across the keys, his fingers
touch octaves.
The sweet melody fills the hall, drowning out
all other noise
so that music is supreme. The partners
slowly twirl,
rise and fall; over and over they go,
keeping pace
with the tempo.
Abruptly,
the mood changes: piano becomes forte,
tempo races forward. The partners have a
falling out,
and the right hand scurries away
up the keyboard; the left hand
follows, trying to woo the right
back to their waltz.
Right slowly falls back into place
with the left,
and they continue, reconciled.
The hands spiral once more, gently
twirling until they come to a
reluctant
stop.
based on a poem of the same name by Amanda Philips
