It was only for a few moments
but they were infinite
when I heard Beethoven
from a car's window
breaching traffic jam like
an ambrosial interlude.
Then I was an archaeologist
who diligently dust off a small object
to recover a forgotten civilization:
A flashback that could not deafen itself to the function
of its ultimate purpose,
when my father took my sister to “Beethoven” record store,
both, forgetting if I even existed,
but I did
and the music,
“It” in me, germinated!
Like history
in an insignificant object,
I found it in my thirst
like rain in a succulent drop,
like a magician that
in the endless lure of his hat
brings back to life
an old dusty piano.
