Rachmaninoff winds reel-to-reel,
Opus 1, First Piano Concerto-
chords dip from atop my desk,
slide down its veneered cheeks
to swim in shadow around my feet.
I sit, hands above a keyboard,
fingers poised to tap the notes-
precision strikes each letter
as though this balanced type
could arrange my words in unbound sheets
and bestow me the name composer.