Preaching is believing, they say
But I wonder how to wonder
And still I don’t know what’s real.
If your piano tells me more than my textbook
Does it know more?
Why do we need professors
When we have you, and
Do strings and parchment keys feel pain when you
Tap and pinch and hit
To make them sing?
The creaky old thing is baying like a hound
Beneath a moon or a racoon
But instead it cries out
To the pressure of your hands.