WEBVTT

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I sat in silence and
removed all of myself.

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When he called my name,
I was a long way under.

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Where?

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Practicing, paper
white, hours, 85 beats

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per second, transparent sheath,
wings hidden by outer shell.

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To all appearances,
to him calling my name

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and entering the room,
nothing had changed.

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There is a place one can
exist where the boisterousness

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of mind is not a lesion.

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Engraved brass, body,
French, anonymous, Rosewood.

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Someone has saved these
instruments we call watermarks.

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Though wading through
leaves somewhat erased,

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we are able to see beyond
multiple smudge marks,

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hear the silence of
colors as the sky

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changes inside our closed eyes.

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