Submissive

The piano, at high tide

was a little short of reaching you-
between my teeth,
a last breath that couldn't escape.

I then walked away-
trickled down my mind,
to that place where one heard the ocean
guzzle silence.

Deathless music-
I lived in a neck;
a deep gorge... redness.

Each tide was an arm
that fed the moon to Time's ears.

Couldn't I but recoil
these tides back across the sea
like one does with old tapes-
cassettes that forget to contain their music?

But my fingers were taken.