Ars Poetica

A poem is
a piano left in an airport terminal
keys played with
clumsy hands
gentle hands
but no matter who
the pianist is
the sounds rises above
rolling suitcases & announcements
spilling into the air
becoming everyone’s for a moment
settling onto the shoulders of a sleeping man
of a woman rushing to her gate
threading through the security line
softening impatience.
A poem is
departure & arrival
that travels without tickets or passports
that lingers in lobbies
long after the pianist has gone.

— Filip Zubatov