As a leaf blower piles up remnants of summer,
one tone is a low sustained fundamental pitch, similar to the drone of a bagpipe. The second is a series of flutelike harmonics, which resonate high above the drone and may be musically stylized to represent such sounds siphoning the wind as it picks up a chill, a year after she left I visited what had been her home. Two tenants had lived there in the interim; but it would have been the same if the space had remained vacant: persona clings

to belongings (sofa, tables, chairs, bed) by revenant static. The arrangement is attracted by a theology of the provisional, lightning like incarnation of the spirit: gods, god-men, spirits, souls of the dead, souls of animals, etc., etc. The gods are travelers par excellence, visitors. Everything in the cosmos gone, like the feelings she couldn't emote, leaves the door opening onto, Ah,
always monstrously beginning again.  

   Take the slag
   not the ore,
   the limb
   dropped off
   the tree,
   the cocoon after
   the butterfly has
   the ruins we call
   Ground of Being.

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