“ All life is a rhythm,” she said as I sat up. “All death is rhythm suspended, a syncopation before life resumes.”
I wrote a little song for you With a melody I'd borrowed put to words that didn't rhyme To repeat what you already knew; As the stones thrown at your window tapped in syncopation, You kept a distance out of fear you'd break, But what good's a single windchime, hanging quiet all alone?aaron weiss
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