On Age...

Considering my piano's lifetime against it's relationship with me
is quite the positioning system.
The spice of character and memory
lingering in chapped finish and flaked wood.
Scars and bruises built on joy and a fond anecdote.
 - That one time we bought a piano. - 

And though it's not been tuned since it's moved in,
And though the faint thin lines from cat claws,
And though my lover never learned to play,
It is where the photo of my Grandmother sits.

And a fine place for it!
The snapshots of those we miss
belong upon the grand pedestal of a weathered piano.

Yet,
my reflection in the glare.
The sliver of a time before.
Cracks of stories we can't share.
After all, some humor requires attendance.
Some sorrow, too.

And that's the sense of it.
The quick nod.  The passing hello.
Occasional notes sounding the reminder of who we were and are.

Life is the time we're together.
Age is the time we're apart.