this house is empty, for a few hours. this house has hollow floors and high ceilings, so when i bellow into the space, my voice pushes the void away.

i'm surrounded by violins and violin parts; bow beetles have gnawed through the horsehair, but i can still stretch the dried filament over the strings and vibrate the walls of this temporarily empty house.

i know there's old injuries in my hands, my shoulders, my neck, and they are quick to remind me that they will never fully heal. but i steal the hundreds of notes that i can, today, stolen while no one can hear me.

i can rest my hands by singing, instead, wordless sound that presses into all the empty spaces of this temporarily empty house. i can still chase that space with sounds.

01 April 2018 21:03

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