Vigil of Own

I dropped a grape on a piano key
that was apart from its piano, just holding there its own potential for sound,
and when it hit, it made no sound
but the key spun into a cycle while the grape flicked away,
the key, turning a music
called "air" into a knot

then dash disappeared, 
and in its spinning mass there was unfurled
a mind upping to something,
suspicious at being watched
yet carrying on its silent carrying on
with I, voyeur,
suddenly regaining consciousness while watching it spin.