my songs hop across the sidewalk-
not minding cracks.
Looking back at your punctuated
stance, I question your audacity
to crescendo, to command
a repeat, re-phrase, your disregard
for standard common time, and I am
no longer under ar-rest.
You choose the ritardando-
and I see arpeggios
dancing around me in the sky.
I dismiss the refrain; dismantle staff,
scale the re-mains, flee from dissonance.
I pause- and pedal
my way home.