Chopin’s great etude’s often called “Tristesse”
for “sadness” or “farewell”. That doesn’t make
sense. Depth of its meditation brings blessed
sight of you to me. Your healing smile takes
me with music beyond healing to peace,
even cosmic embrace. Were we to speak
right now (my sitting here alone to cease)
I might only repeat your name, struck meek
by his melody, your face overcoming
all. This may seem strange, unable to see
yourself as I do. Perhaps you’ll play Chopin
and better understand—cantabile
like a human voice asking you perchance
to let my arms embrace you while we dance.
Roger Armbrust
March 18, 2015
