Stilling

I hide
in a place where I place too much of myself,    
too many times,  
white and green  
oblong length space,  
the tethers all tensing.    
I won't cross a divide  
to where you hide your low notes,  
and I post our highs,  
our octaves    
mismatched,  
still ponder them sometimes,  
go hunting in wrong places,  
or places close by,  
skip blind  
on minor notes,
black keys, 
paint something cosmic  
lost while at sea.