You're trying to nail down the left hand
of Rachmaninoff’s no. 3 in D minor
Nearly impossible to play!
eyes wide open in a room with the lights out
eigengrau . . . a grayness
not the same as practicing études in conservatory
blindfolded with the lights on . . .
Sergei himself here in the darkness
the King of Span
his gigantic paw stretching
the interval of a 13th on the keyboard
chuckling as you struggle to hold your posture
knowing a cramp is on its way . . .
you looking away . . .
glissando-ing like a caged animal
until the wooden hammers
blanketed in compressed felt -
the tuner's pin controlling their hardness
softening the tone -
acquiesce . . . releasing you into the world of light . . .