In my room, I touched the white key and a blizzard
ripped through the century; countries were erased
and borders melted, like the Neanderthals with their footprints
five hundred thousand thaws before Napoleon’s La Grande Armée.
As I pressed the keys, I shadowed its scale into the stars.
But when the light came, there was no frost,
no piano, no Beethoven in the corner diner,
just a pair of crows knocking on the window.