That piano man.  Unlocking

keys with his finger.  Breaking down

doors into the light of song.  His

head pulses with beat.  Shoulders

sway like ocean waves bringing the

high tide of song to the shoreline

of crowds.


The sound is a wind he creates.  Escaping

the bonds of different voices where

into one moment everyone becomes



Time fails at his beckoning.  Midnight

no longer calls out.  Night is day to

him, as he encourages the ivories into

the next level, separate from the last.





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