Song
There is not much I can speak of beyond the song of words. My beliefs have a limit. And the music almost always gives response. Words fall upon water and make sounds, I hear their small calls in the distant evergreen, they drift in some winds, resound in my imagination—they linger there, sometimes for days—until their meanings leave with new repose. Sometimes I want to write with them, make my own sounds that arise from my deepest longing, using only words, these words, that have been around much longer than I—the thinnest of words.
Song Language Music Naming Subjectivity Translation Emerson History Erasure[violence] 427 Child of the Bear Indian Words Intention Rivers Preservation Body[music] Thresholds Dialogues Water Return