The view to a star unwritten unknown unheard of in the winter. M picks up the record. The old machine is dusty. The first thing they see is the outside coming in. That’s M and S in secret management of the day. The scratch of gem stones against oil based products. The rendering of something to your ears. Forever in your dept. Your mastery on loan at the library, though someone scribbled in the margins. That’s ok, that’s where you preferred to be in most cases anyway.
Saved. The distribution channels were the secret to your power. From soul to soul. Broken mended and listen to, quite carefully. It was all about what comes out from what’s put together side by side, like as if they do belong there. And of course they do. Someone does the sewing every time, just as you predicted. Is that why you said my name in the dreams? What about the elephants? Was that just to get me going for a swim again?
You are not so lonely as you were, but the rest of us are keeping hold of it for you, in case you want it back sometime. I remember that look on the child’s face you kept us from seeing for a while. Now I get it. You were saving up the power of the way she looked up at the sky. When the photo was released, we went back to bowing down our heads and dreaming in the background while the work kept grinding down. Once the bell had rung, though, we were painting it on walls with water. It was running. It was fading. It was light again. For that, I thank you — we thank you.
Now it is released and we’re all stronger. For the nonce.