To The End
The End, Ragnar Kjartansson (2009)

A frozen white carpet rolls out
to blackrock mountains that stretch to spear the sky.
Dwarfed against this blue Icelandic scene
a baby grand piano sits, its lid raised to the frigid air.
He pushed it here –
right up to the edge of this lonely range.
The snow-path drags for miles.
He blows on white fingers, plays an ètude
to lure the woman in the long black coat.
He wants what we all want: to want.
To want to follow someone to the end,
even if he can’t tell from his seat at the keyboard
whether she is walking closer, or moving further away.

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