I can feel an echo of the kinship
I felt with these songs in the cold and dark, isolated on that hill
I can't feel them resonate now, though,
I remember still, and so think I should feel
But I don't see the path back, or ahead, the light I desperately
Asked someone for once,
The memory of dreams
Desolation at reaching futilely for them,
Or peace with this rooted spot
Whispers flow through me with the music
Whittling away the hollow bones inside me,
This brittle bark shedding from my skin so like the tree
Inked to my ankle,
Dying and dormant and bent
An echo of springs past like
The outro of a song that hasn't played for a while
And clouded remembrance of the lyrics
I haven't lived in a while