White pianos belly up red when
the sun breaks like shivered ivory
into the horned foothills:
I know your mountains
and your music

White piano players belly up sad when
their eyes shine salty red
like seaweed been rubbed under
their delicate eyelashes:
I know you.

Sunday drifters in Sunday best
hammering rail spikes and picking their teeth
in white belly up sanctuaries with
redly-wrought stainglass
like bruises between the stones:
I know me,
and you don't know me.