We hear him plod around on the floor above us as the light begins to lay in long, slanting lines across the wide, wooden planks of floor beneath us. We vibrate just slightly when the timer hits 6 a.m. and the dehumidifier hums, forcing us to resonate with its sound.

He comes and pulls out the bench and we hush, expectant, eager, finally to be given our voice. As he pounds on the ivory keys, we sing, sometimes together, sometimes alone, sometimes we shout, sometimes we whisper. Our sonorous pitches intertwine, swirl, shout and cry with rapture.

As he reaches the last bar of the fugue, we send out sounds that fill the room and seem like they will never end.

When he reaches the last chord, we all vibrate, whether a hammer had struck or not, we all vibrate and we sing in harmonious brotherhood with one another, moving every particle in the room. The sound waves we send out never stop, continuing beyond the now silent room into the universe beyond.

He goes back to his rooms. He can still hear us as we circle the earth and travel out to the stars beyond.