Poem: "Etude"

Etude

Raindrops pitter-pattering
at quarter past one am
syncopate their own rhythms
and beat out little etudes
under cloudy skies, the notes drifting
into the atmosphere from metal trash can
and brick wall, from old stone benches
and hard, dead grass. What a counterpoint!
What a soft exercise for beginning students!
Reminds me of Chopin, gazing
out of his window at raindrops
on Majorca. Even there
he couldn't escape the gloom and mist
that cloud the scales
with bursts of unexpected, impassioned
chromaticism. It's like looking into a mirror
and seeing the raindrops and etudes of years past
move slowly, ploddingly, along dusty keys,
the notes flat and without ringing in the air,
the pedals broken, and everything jammed and
out-of-tune. Yet, "practise will make perfect!"
Someday, perhaps, but for right now,
I'll just put on the CD once again,
so I can fall asleep to rain and etudes
in harmony with each other at last.
Goodnight.