Music

You're the keeper of the things I can't hold
The story when my pages fold
You don't correct me, you just wait
Until I stumble through the gate
And find you standing where you stood before
Holding supreme pizza at the door

There's a star that pulses in the corner now
A little gold reminder of a little gold vow
I put it there so you would always see
Something still breathing where I used to be

So here's my slant rhyme, here's my crooked hymn
Written for the man who keeps me when I dim
You're not just the lover, not just the friend
You're the one who knows how every version ends
And starts again

And maybe grace is just the weight we learn to set aside.
Not absolution — just permission to have tried.

There is a frequency for loneliness — it hums beneath the floor,
it is the radiator clicking and the settling of doors.

And that is not nothing.
That is not nothing.
That is not nothing at all.