3/4 time? 4/4? he asks,

questioning me with his eyes more than his words

and he hands me the sonatina.

i analyze the lines, 

holding the twin pages of sheet music in my hands

and weigh them, glancing over measures

silently mesmerized by the flow of arpeggios

the flow of which i can play fluently

but will never quite comprehend

he smiles, takes the song back, and tells me

it's 4/4

i almost laugh, for i care little about the technological side of music

i care about the side that is alive, the side of music

i can smell, taste, touch

like a summer afternoon

that's music to me