Etude for Elise

I would watch her through my window
of an afternoon – the girl across the street
who played piano; fair silent was her music
that heeded no key – no C sharp, no A flat minor,
but even still I heard it like one hears
the stutter of air from a butterfly’s wings.

The glissando of her hair across
her shoulders, where a capriccio of a dress
gave misterioso a whole new meaning,
as she swayed back and forth in three-four time,
in and out the shadows – dolcissimo,
the ripple of her fingers.

There was no need for diminuendo
or crescendo...arpeggio, staccato or rubato,
all totally superfluous, for she had magic in her touch...
in her rise, and fall. Could transport the melody
across the pavement, road and trees – lay it
on my shoulders like a silken,
Paisley shawl.