when someone is missing, their possessions take on a new meaning. so where I run into these things, I begin to make songs –
I can feel your empty t-shirt, but I can’t feel you
I know your spoon as well as I know your mouth
you have the look of the bed you rose from moments ago
in a way, a song is just a long, loving look at whatever it’s considering – a favorite shirt, a spoon, the curving edges of the bed.
outside the song a different reality exists: the world with everyone and everything in it, every place and event, spins and spins, then one day it will all slow down because nothing can spin forever. the world is just that way.
but inside the song, the world is a certain way. inside of it, every molecule of everyone and every place, moment and thing swells with life. it all lasts, and it’s safe forever.

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