just sing, little darling, sing with me.
—Emmylou, First Aid Kit
The song does not understand
the word forsake. Though it
dances with silence, it always
returns, like petals, like morning,
like waves. The song will never
leave you. When you cannot
hear it—when the song
seems lost to your lips—
that is when it is ripening.
Let us add our voices
to the song, the song that
is singing us awake.
And let us add our silences
to it, too. How beautifully
it holds us, becomes stem,
becomes sun, becomes oar.