Cecil, I’ve been eating every reminder of field and forest, every tree and all doubt. All your sounds and their pivots and sharps, so twice I am both bottomless, pitifully hungry, and full of the flux.
If I am asked to describe something about you, anything, Cecil, anything, I explain that there were only two of us in that large performance hall. Only two, and I wasn’t even sure you saw me amidst the other people.
You saw the keys. Only the keys. And me — only you.