I am all moans to your sadness. Sound me and I will sing you: first comes air then lungs then throat then tongue, teeth, lips. Your heart today is like a large smooth stone in my belly. Do I have a choice but to sing with you? Besides, a special grace waits deep in heavy songs, something distinctly sweet, like the pleasure of two old hands about to touch. Let my I and your I become one, like two halves becoming whole or two wholes becoming a new wonder. Does anyone dare call a song the sum of a-b-c’s? I want you to hear your voice in the echoes of my ears when tears run dry and there is no more point in speaking.