The Piano Teacher Poem by Chad Sweeney

A music box wound too tightly will explode
playing its song all at once.
The practice is to unwind the song slowly.
Think of this when you touch the key of C.

A black hole warbles the note B flat
in waves as wide as galaxies
forty octaves below your house.
Think of this when you love someone.

Sound has its own horizon.
Our meetings will happen there.
The cello is floating away.
The ribs of a tiger are rippling.