A minor diminished point of view

They say it’s about perspective.
Diana Krall sits at her piano,
Playing it with the incorruptibility
Of the only schoolgirl who labours at algebra
In a classroomfull of pigtails writing margin notes.

She sings about love
Like a woman freshly in hate.
I try not to squirm, with that spine full of emotion
Challenging me to a duel.
(Wodehouse wrote that a woman should never betray her emotions; I gather, better late than never.)

Somewhere in the nonchalance of her fifth crescendo,
the penny dropps, but mutedly.
It stays at the feet of my sanity, and I pick it up
Belatedly:
It is about perspective after all.

The sun rises because Miss Krall un-learnt her vibrato
And tore out the sleeve that displayed her heart.
It sets when she plays her last notes,
You know, the ones she just made up in her head;
The ones she plays with her feline indifference.

And you go to bed so that the sun can rise again. Without misgivings.