I am imperfect and so
are the rose notes my Yamaha
sings. Plunking plonks
into the righteous air
to no one: I
play an ode
to myself
in his fumbled
slinky-staircase
song. I
need
a place
to make
mistakes
when the audience
plugs in
to my heart.

(originally published in Flights, Summer 2023)