Solitary note, digit hovering
ever over ebony key.
You can descend only once
and change is known.
A new and common-sensed wisdom whispers
that Silence, my former comfortable companion
is not music
nor never music was.
What rut one makes.
Any errant wheel but senses Familiar
and the precipice of Same’s a silhouette shadow.
The mold once poured, and sunsets dried,
remains and reminds.
Caution’s a coward yet keening the unknown note.
The Sound will surely surface.