My lips hum a melody played by your French horn warm deep buried underground you insisted a casket sealed in caked clay to beam in your own silence polished gold in the dark I am the silver mouth piece wistful to touch levers valves slides I stay as breath winding through my fingers parched ripping tea leaves under the afternoon sun harvesting for a full cup you drink long- as your velvet sound plays “for no one” I’m left drying in the porcelain cold a faded map marked x to find you
Layered Fragments, Becoming Whole 