A black piano,
alone in the rain,
its keys exposed to downpours
makes poetry
that a bird,
dry in the leaves
of a nearby tree
finds questionable.
But the bird's ears are tweaked,
its eyes, open,
while a new spark
gives rise
to a rare note
heard by no one,
because there's nothing
but a piano
and its wet dream of a poem
within earshot
as the rain plinks on.
