sometime around the beginning
of the world
we kiss
two pianos come leaping
from the underbrush
nuzzle us with their wild
arpeggios
their shuffling fur

then a lizard falls from the sky
bounces off
the smaller piano’s
middle C
and into a pond

millions of years pass and
the pond dries up
but the lizard doesn’t emerge

and we never learn to play piano
but later see the pianos locked together
in fugal embrace

the lizard finally scampers from beneath
the larger piano’s sostenuto pedal
a dog-eared copy of
Evolution for Dummies
clutched in its black teeth

we open our lids:
tiny harpsichords on the underside of leaves
a nocturne has turned our mouths into silver caverns
the thousand-fingered hands of the seasons play
all our notes at once