1 a.m.

At 1a.m. because he couldn’t sleep
he sits at his piano
cigarette in the ash tray
smoke curling up
trying to decide what he wants to write
what he wants to say, what he wants to play.

At 2a.m. the ash tray half full
his elbow rests on middle C
chin in his hand he tinkers with the keys
an F a C back to F
it’s not coming.

At 3a.m. he naps on the couch
the ash tray is full the room in a haze
eighth notes dance in his mind
like a playground full of children.

At 4a.m. he is hammering on the keyboard
the ash tray emptied the windows open
his mind is clear but he’s not there yet.

At 5a.m. a cigarette in the ash tray
smoke curling up, the notes are coming now.

At 6a.m. it’s done, he has it, and he sleeps.

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