(for Rachmaninoff)

on your birthday, i imagine
four very fragile
but still lovely
hands finally
breaking in
the two very new
Steinways Horowitz brought
as gifts overnight –
oh, how he
rolled them in so
loudly, both wrapped
in clear crinkly paper
like two bouquets
so that you could not
detect the singing
strings pulled
in breathless suspense
weighing upon the wheels –
and how they burn
now, hands and strings,
as concertos are swallowed
whole, once again,
inches above the reflection
of New York City
.
20080401:1712
y