[poem] The Accompanist

[kaberett]

[The Accompanist]

Early nights and early mornings lend themselves to me
with a wry kindness about their eyebrows
tactfully not asking
what it is I'll have to sacrifice
to keep up with the interest.

I spend them
in cellars and in futile arguments
on crises of the flesh and of the faith
(not that either I or they discriminate)--

-- and in exchange, the reasons that I do:
quiet contemplation, data fresh from the machine--
moments spent in sitting with the sunlight and the trains--
and most of all because the child I was, made brave
by learning that the wide wild world had space
even for them (even for them!),
prefers to pay gifts forward than to try to make amends.

The music that we play in company's the richer
for the daring of the sharing of our lives.