of an inchoate melody

a kind of music begins to fill the air inside the 3-mat hut. a prelude abides, is resonant in its utter simplicity. then counterpoint emerges. a fugue, radiant and crepuscular in its subtle complexity. before all that, at first, there was just a quiet murmuring of voices, first one then a polyphony of them, the trenchant electricity before a performance the sound a hall makes when the audience is alive, expectant, waiting. then the silence descending when the instruments tune themselves awake. [ the polyphony ] now there is a cacophony of sound, melody interspersing and interceding itself in a Schoenbergian riff. a cadenza bursts out with furious intent, the genius of the body expressing it an astonishment. this morning at the last REM sleep period, i dreamt i was playing Chopin’s Fantaisie Impromptu, with the verve, imagination, and simmering passion of a Daniil Trifonov at the bench, a being possessed by some benthic deity of music and it was glorious. a pianist myself but a mere…