My Maestro

Gone.

My introspect now dismissed, I
twist to view some gray filaments.
Floating, but soon to have his chair
all scored and nettled by day's end.

A flash of smoke from the top stairs;
Thunder drums between a heartbeat.
I'm told -- last five preferred in air;
Taut, with his eyes in cold retreat.

Left to read this audio book,
my next few chapters are simply
blank; No apparent character
development or plot line shown.

The tape reels spinning, I now see
mindful steps on a Northern lake,
with dulling coats of April's ice.
To not disturb above or --

Maestro!

Sound companion, artist of scales!
Command your orchestra of flutes,
bongo drums, accordions, and
one self-absorbed piccoloist!

He leads me through resounding scores,
the piccolo now sounds in key;
Conductor and his frantic wand
cry out with wanton howls for more.

This symphony ends with little
hope for a piccolo's encore.

My maestro,
back upon the throne,
working on his next composure.