Etudes and Sounds as Frozen Colors Echo from the Stone
So let your left hand play your melody.
Shake hair above the keyboard and the rules.
Fill twilight holy air. Let music be
The sacrament (in aisles) spilled out like jewels
A ghost remembers, or the calving ice,
White holiness inside the oldest church
In Paris. Let the berg-like notes entice
And stained glass shafts leave phantoms in the lurch
Against the ancient night-like walls. The keys
Bring out a truth as wide as God and Christ.
The rainbow-like performance makes a frieze
Of sound like warmth forever captured, iced.
Death came to Place Vendome and yet the stain
Of Chopin’s music stabs across the Seine.
~ Phillip Whidden
