C Major

Pianos have a landscape all their own,
Dark hills and white valleys that shape and guide
The music, chords, and melodies. Each key
A nearby foreign country, distinguished
By topography. Only C is flat,
Without a sharp or flat. It gives a wrong
Impression: nothing, blank, and empty. Not
A single mark to grace the written score,
A bare white cloud without a drop of rain.
Vanilla ice cream has the same effect,
Though similarly undeserved. But what
Do you see? What's the flavor of the key
Of C? A page of possibilities,
But more than that, the white of light, and not
Of absence. Light, the source of all creation,
Forming the receptacle and also
Filling it, a fullness that surpasses
Any mere division into finite
Qualities. What you find there is not
What it brings to you, which is everything,
But rather what you bring to it, and see
Reflected back to you: a human soul.
Musician? Banker? Sinner? Saint? You know
It's all in there. So if you don't like what
You see, just keep looking until you do.