sun slips through fingers'

tips, my eyes catch glimpses of the

yellow, like half-moons, but

being full suns gliding

through wrists moving in

full twists,

keyboard-catch they are,

more than hints of yellow jazzing in

eye-blips; i keep thinking the sun

shines there and that roses grow

from my fingers in yellows -

they are so quiet

so they play only between the keys

and some triangle, occasional cymbals slice

hands catch my eye

i think they are sun-

shines every single time

and i sheen a bit deeper

every time -

and then equilibrium catches

up with grateful -

every time

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