Because sometimes I feel like I am both,
Working with relatives of new of
ancestors of old
who have been jaded by loss.
Cause when they chiseled away at our songs, our language
an imperfect surface was unveiled,
revealing what remains:
That’s why I cling to you,
to your thoughts of me,
the way I do.
Because I am afraid that you might forget
the way I followed your voice to the songs,
that I want to untangle philosophies with you.
And I am afraid you forgot that my fingers can parse nimbly through.