Fugue Poem by Raynette Eitel

It is nearly impossible
to know which comes first,
dream or fugue.

Evasive as smoke,
notes drift across the evening
scattering in all the corners
and leaving lovely images
of tone and color.

I approach the score
with high anticipation,
fingers twitching,
ready for the ivory
like a child expecting a birthday.

Begin slowly and reserved,
savoring each note like candy
and then, like a sailboat catching wind,
music soars with a flurry
of sweet, sweet sound.