A fleeting night joke

The light is sleeping besides me in a carbonized cotton thread inside the bulb.
I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling, the pillow under my head sights foreseeing a sleepless night.
Suddenly the music hugs me with no sound in the room: trumpet blust, the magic flute, a flock of violins grazes the melody on the score.
A thousand tolls: the bell tower in the village whispers the hour and the loneliness of whom are listening to it.
The solo leaves the stock; the most coquette string runs plucking the harmonic scale and fades away into a promised "B".
My hand is closed in a fist, the long lashes which belong to me vibrate while the thirty six blacks fall: the piano is protagonist now and in the arpeggio the shaded dawn bursts.
I have lived the time of a fleeting night joke. I close my eyes slowly as if I were at a first night and at last I begin to dream.
Write: Stefano Pastori
Blulight gallery - December 2017
Music: Shostakovich
Concerto No.1 for piano,
trumpet and strings in C minor,
Op.35 - I. Allegro vivace