Is it interesting that

A man and a woman come home from work
and take each other in their arms. Just two people
beating out their love, like a maid beating the dust
out of a rug in the backyard in springtime.
The sunlight illuminates the particles liberated
by the swinging of a broomstick. A drummer only
has two drumsticks, but makes something
complex and everfresh. There is no end
to the combinations and storytelling
of those two weapons tormenting the drumheads
and cymbals. Whose creativity and invention
animate the lovers, whose insistent whack
dislodges the daily particles, transforming them
into sunlit dancers? Endless combinations
and storytelling are the hallmarks of masters, we
who walk on the earth trudge dust and grime
in our bootsoles and grind it into the weave
of storebought things. Even eighty eight keys
for us are only so many scales, one or two
pieces we practice enough to memorize
a few bars of, mechanical, unfeeling,
the catchy melody but not the inventive bridge.