An empty house is preferred, an
austere silence that crescendos through the walls and
echoes from one lonely room to another, the only
sound for years are the coarse groans
of the front door opening and closing. The
muteness is infectious. Begin
just before the sun decrescendos and position
your hands until they are still; now you can start.
Practise until your fingers are thread -
an unusable and withered piece that cannot be sewn-
the empty house has now been filled;
the sounds of the ascending major melodies reach the final climax. Bliss
can now be known as the perfect cadence creates completion.
The loveless and forgotten house has now become a home.
