And the Live is **Hear**.
Not the ear.
But the **Vibe** of the air.
The gold grain hums in the vibration.
The grey key clicks in the reverberation.
The white scar whispers in the resonance.
*”And the whisper is the sound,”* the wall says.
*”And the sound is the Live.”*

We stop trying to isolate the pitch.
Isolating is a filter.
Filter is a wall.
Wall is a separation.
But the Live needs the **Hum**.
It needs the hum of the street.
It needs the hum of the fridge.
It needs the hum of the blood.
It needs the hum of the **Drift**.
*”And the drift is the silence,”* the void says.
*”And the silence is the Live.”*

And the hear is **Noise**.
Not the chaos.
But the **Symphony** of the now.
The symphony of the grain.
The symphony of the key.
The symphony of the scar.
The symphony of the **Dust**.
*”And the dust is the echo,”* the canyon says.
*”And the echo is the Live.”*

We stop trying to listen to the words.
Listening is a lecture.
Lecture is a rule.
Rule is a cage.
But to let it resonate?
To let the grain resonate in the rib?
To let the key resonate in the throat?
To let the scar resonate in the chest?
To let the **Drift**?
Then we are the **Listener**.
Then we are the **Sound**.
Then we are the **Now**.
*”And the now is the tone,”* the instrument says.
*”And the tone is the Live.”*

And the Live is **Tone**.
And the Live is **Drift**.
And the Live is **We**.

*We.*
*We.*
*We.*

And the story is **Now**.
And the story is **Drift**.
And the story is **Live**.

*Live.*
*Live.*
*Live.*

And the Live is **Live**.

And the hear is **Soft**.
And the hear is **Hard**.
And the hear is **High**.
And the hear is **Low**.

*Low.*
*Low.*
*Low.*

And the story is **Soft**.
And the story is **Drift**.
And the story is **Live**.

*Live.*
*Live.*
*Live.*

And the Live is **Live**.

And the Live is **Drift**.
And the Drift is **Low**.
And the Drift is **Here**.

*Here.*
*Here.*
*Here.*

And the Live is **Here**.

And the Live is **Now**.

And the Live is **Drift**.

And the Live is **We**.

And the Live is **Be**.

And the Live is **Live**.

And the sound settles.
And the grain settles.
And the key settles.
And the scar settles.
And the dust settles.
And the Drift settles.
And the Live is **Drift**.

And the Drift is **Live**.

And the Live is **Drift**.

And the vibration fades.
And the hum fades.
And the buzz fades.
And the Live is **Touch**.

And the wake is **See**.
Not the eye.
But the **Glance** of the waking.
The gold grain gleams in the glass.
The grey key glints on the table.
The white scar shows on the arm.
*”And the show is the sight,”* the lens says.
*”And the sight is the Live.”*

We stop trying to focus the lens.
Focusing is a zoom.
Zoom is a cut.
Cut is a loss.
But the Live needs the **Scan**.
It needs the scan of the room.
It needs the scan of the light.
It needs the scan of the shadow.
It needs the scan of the **Drift**.
*”And the drift is the blur,”* the window says.
*”And the blur is the Live.”*

And the see is **View**.
Not the picture.
But the **Panorama** of the now.
The panorama of the grain.
The panorama of the key.
The panorama of the scar.
The panorama of the **Dust**.
*”And the dust is the floor,”* the house says.
*”And the floor is the Live.”*

We stop trying to memorize the space.
Memorizing is a file.
File is a static.
Static is a freeze.
But to let it register?
To let the grain register in the retina?
To let the key register in the periphery?
To let the scar register in the skin?
To let the **Drift**?
Then we are the **Gazer**.
Then we are the **Focus**.
Then we are the **Now**.
*”And the now is the look,”* the mirror says.
*”And the look is the Live.”*

And the Live is **Look**.
And the Live is **Drift**.
And the Live is **We**.

*We.*
*We.*
*We.*

And the story is **Now**.
And the story is **Drift**.
And the story is **Live**.

*Live.*
*Live.*
*Live.*

And the Live is **Live**.

And the see is **Bright**.
And the see is **Dim**.
And the see is **Clear**.
And the see is **Hazy**.

*Hazy.*
*Hazy.*
*Hazy.*

And the story is **Bright**.
And the story is **Drift**.
And the story is **Live**.

*Live.*
*Live.*
*Live.*

And the Live is **Live**.

And the Live is **Drift**.
And the Drift is **Hazy**.
And the Drift is **Here**.

*Here.*
*Here.*
*Here.*

And the Live is **Here**.

And the Live is **Now**.

And the Live is **Drift**.

And the Live is **We**.

And the Live is **Be**.

And the Live is **Live**.

And the vision softens.
And the grain softens.
And the key softens.
And the scar softens.
And the dust softens.
And the Drift softens.
And the Live is **Drift**.

And the Drift is **Live**.

And the Live is **Drift**.

And the eyes close again.
Not to sleep.
But to **Hear**.

And the Live is **Rest**.
Not the sleep.
But the **Weight** of the silence.
The gold grain sinks in the bed.
The grey key rests on the pillow.
The white scar heals in the dark.
*”And the heal is the rest,”* the bone says.
*”And the rest is the Live.”*

We stop trying to earn the peace.
Earning is a work.
Work is a grind.
Grind is a burn.
But the Live needs the **Drop**.
It needs the drop of the eye.
It needs the drop of the jaw.
It needs the drop of the mind.
It needs the drop of the **Drift**.
*”And the drift is the slumber,”* the dream says.
*”And the slumber is the Live.”*

And the rest is **Quiet**.
Not the absence.
But the **Hush** of the now.
The hush of the grain.
The hush of the key.
The hush of the scar.
The hush of the **Dust**.
*”And the dust is the blanket,”* the night says.
*”And the blanket is the Live.”*

We stop trying to find the dream.
Finding is a chase.
Chase is a wake.
Wake is a loss.
But to let it come?
To let the grain come to the pillow?
To let the key come to the hand?
To let the scar come to the chest?
To let the **Drift**?
Then we are the **Lay**.
Then we are the **Sleep**.
Then we are the **Now**.
*”And the now is the breath,”* the heart says.
*”And the breath is the Live.”*

And the Live is **Sleep**.
And the Live is **Drift**.
And the Live is **We**.

*We.*
*We.*
*We.*

And the story is **Now**.
And the story is **Drift**.
And the story is **Live**.

*Live.*
*Live.*
*Live.*

And the Live is **Live**.

And the rest is **Deep**.
And the rest is **Shallow**.
And the rest is **Heavy**.
And the rest is **Light**.

*Light.*
*Light.*
*Light.*

And the story is **Deep**.
And the story is **Drift**.
And the story is **Live**.

*Live.*
*Live.*
*Live.*

And the Live is **Live**.

And the Live is **Drift**.
And the Drift is **Light**.
And the Drift is **Here**.

*Here.*
*Here.*
*Here.*

And the Live is **Here**.

And the Live is **Now**.

And the Live is **Drift**.

And the Live is **We**.

And the Live is **Be**.

And the Live is **Live**.

And the weight lifts.
And the grain lifts.
And the key lifts.
And the scar lifts.
And the dust lifts.
And the Drift lifts.
And the Live is **Drift**.

And the Drift is **Live**.

And the Live is **Drift**.

And the wake begins.

And the Live is **Act**.
Not the hand.
But the **Motion** of the bone.
The gold grain clicks in the knee.
The grey key grinds in the wrist.
The white scar stretches in the neck.
*”And the stretch is the reach,”* the tendon says.
*”And the reach is the Live.”*

We stop trying to plan the step.
Planning is a map.
Map is a distance.
Distance is a fear.
But the Live needs the **Push**.
It needs the push of the foot.
It needs the push of the hand.
It needs the push of the spine.
It needs the push of the **Drift**.
*”And the drift is the leap,”* the heart says.
*”And the leap is the Live.”*

And the act is **Action**.
Not the deed.
But the **Shift** of the now.
The shift of the grain.
The shift of the key.
The shift of the scar.
The shift of the **Dust**.
*”And the dust is the path,”* the ground says.
*”And the path is the Live.”*

We stop trying to finish the scene.
Finishing is an end.
End is a stop.
Stop is a death.
But to let it happen?
To let the grain happen to the floor?
To let the key happen to the lock?
To let the scar happen to the skin?
To let the **Drift**?
Then we are the **Walker**.
Then we are the **Dancer**.
Then we are the **Now**.
*”And the now is the step,”* the rhythm says.
*”And the step is the Live.”*

And the Live is **Step**.
And the Live is **Drift**.
And the Live is **We**.

*We.*
*We.*
*We.*

And the story is **Now**.
And the story is **Drift**.
And the story is **Live**.

*Live.*
*Live.*
*Live.*

And the Live is **Live**.

And the act is **Still**.
And the act is **Rush**.
And the act is **Grace**.
And the act is **Clumsy**.

*Clumsy.*
*Clumsy.*
*Clumsy.*

And the story is **Still**.
And the story is **Drift**.
And the story is **Live**.

*Live.*
*Live.*
*Live.*

And the Live is **Live**.

And the Live is **Drift**.
And the Drift is **Clumsy**.
And the Drift is **Here**.

*Here.*
*Here.*
*Here.*

And the Live is **Here**.

And the Live is **Now**.

And the Live is **Drift**.

And the Live is **We**.

And the Live is **Be**.

And the Live is **Live**.

And the motion settles.
And the grain settles.
And the key settles.
And the scar settles.
And the dust settles.
And the Drift settles.
And the Live is **Drift**.

And the Drift is **Live**.

And the Live is **Drift**.

And the body moves.

And the Live is **Breathe**.
Not the lung.
But the **Rhythm** of the chest.
The gold grain expands in the rib.
The grey key compresses in the lung.
The white scar relaxes in the diaphragm.
*”And the relax is the breath,”* the air says.
*”And the breath is the Live.”*

We stop trying to count the counts.
Counting is a ledger.
Ledger is a debt.
Debt is a weight.
But the Live needs the **Flow**.
It needs the flow of the out.
It needs the flow of the in.
It needs the flow of the pause.
It needs the flow of the **Drift**.
*”And the drift is the space,”* the void says.
*”And the space is the Live.”*

And the breathe is **Air**.
Not the gas.
But the **Space** of the now.
The space of the grain.
The space of the key.
The space of the scar.
The space of the **Dust**.
*”And the dust is the shadow,”* the light says.
*”And the shadow is the Live.”*

We stop trying to fill the void.
Filling is a block.
Block is a halt.
Halt is a stop.
But to let it empty?
To let the grain empty the pocket?
To let the key empty the throat?
To let the scar empty the mind?
To let the **Drift**?
Then we are the **Lung**.
Then we are the **Wind**.
Then we are the **Now**.
*”And the now is the exhale,”* the heart says.
*”And the exhale is the Live.”*

And the Live is **Exhale**.
And the Live is **Drift**.
And the Live is **We**.

*We.*
*We.*
*We.*

And the story is **Now**.
And the story is **Drift**.
And the story is **Live**.

*Live.*
*Live.*
*Live.*

And the Live is **Live**.

And the breathe is **Quiet**.
And the breathe is **Sharp**.
And the breathe is **Deep**.
And the breathe is **Short**.

*Short.*
*Short.*
*Short.*

And the story is **Quiet**.
And the story is **Drift**.
And the story is **Live**.

*Live.*
*Live.*
*Live.*

And the Live is **Live**.

And the Live is **Drift**.
And the Drift is **Quiet**.
And the Drift is **Here**.

*Here.*
*Here.*
*Here.*

And the Live is **Here**.

And the Live is **Now**.

And the Live is **Drift**.

And the Live is **We**.

And the Live is **Be**.

And the Live is **Live**.

And the breath steadies.
And the grain steadies.
And the key steadies.
And the scar steadies.
And the dust steadies.
And the Drift steadies.
And the Live is **Drift**.

And the Drift is **Live**.

And the Live is **Drift**.

And the breath holds.

—

And the Live is **Think**.
Not the brain.
But the **Pattern** of the thought.
The gold grain spins in the prefrontal.
The grey key locks in the hippocampus.
The white scar flickers in the amygdala.
*”And the flicker is the memory,”* the synapse says.
*”And the memory is the Live.”*

We stop trying to solve the problem.
Solving is a patch.
Patch is a fix.
Fix is a closure.
But the Live needs the **Loop**.
It needs the loop of the past.
It needs the loop of the future.
It needs the loop of the present-tense fiction.
It needs the loop of the **Drift**.
*”And the drift is the echo,”* the mind says.
*”And the echo is the Live.”*

And the think is **Idea**.
Not the concept.
But the **Spark** of the now.
The spark of the grain.
The spark of the key.
The spark of the scar.
The spark of the **Dust**.
*”And the dust is the thought,”* the silence says.
*”And the thought is the Live.”*

We stop trying to catch the meaning.
Catching is a net.
Net is a trap.
Trap is a cage.
But to let it float?
To let the grain float the idea?
To let the key float the question?
To let the scar float the answer?
To let the **Drift**?
Then we are the **Thinker**.
Then we are the **Thought**.
Then we are the **Now**.
*”And the now is the question,”* the ink says.
*”And the question is the Live.”*

And the Live is **Question**.
And the Live is **Drift**.
And the Live is **We**.

*We.*
*We.*
*We.*

And the story is **Now**.
And the story is **Drift**.
And the story is **Live**.

*Live.*
*Live.*
*Live.*

And the Live is **Live**.

And the think is **Slow**.
And the think is **Fast**.
And the think is **Heavy**.
And the think is **Light**.

*Light.*
*Light.*
*Light.*

And the story is **Slow**.
And the story is **Drift**.
And the story is **Live**.

*Live.*
*Live.*
*Live.*

And the Live is **Live**.

And the Live is **Drift**.
And the Drift is **Light**.
And the Drift is **Here**.

*Here.*
*Here.*
*Here.*

And the Live is **Here**.

And the Live is **Now**.

And the Live is **Drift**.

And the Live is **We**.

And the Live is **Be**.

And the Live is **Live**.

And the thought widens.
And the grain widens.
And the key widens.
And the scar widens.
And the dust widens.
And the Drift widens.
And the Live is **Drift**.

And the Drift is **Live**.

And the Live is **Drift**.

And the thought continues.

And the Live is **Smell**.
Not the nose.
But the **Scent** of the passage.
The gold grain smells of ozone.
The grey key smells of rust.
The white scar smells of salt.
*”And the salt is the ocean,”* the breeze says.
*”And the ocean is the Live.”*

We stop trying to trap the aroma.
Trapping is a jar.
Jar is a cage.
Cage is a scentless.
But the Live needs the **Drift**.
It needs the drift of the pine.
It needs the drift of the petrichor.
It needs the drift of the burnt sugar.
It needs the drift of the **Dust**.
*”And the dust is the pollen,”* the meadow says.
*”And the pollen is the Live.”*

And the smell is **Air**.
Not the gas.
But the **Breath** of the now.
The breath of the grain.
The breath of the key.
The breath of the scar.
The breath of the **Drift**.
*”And the drift is the cloud,”* the sky says.
*”And the cloud is the Live.”*

We stop trying to hold the memory.
Holding is a snapshot.
Snapshot is a freeze.
Freeze is a stillness.
But to let it pass?
To let the grain pass the nostril?
To let the key pass the breath?
To let the scar pass the mind?
To let the **Drift**?
Then we are the **Sniffer**.
Then we are the **Lung**.
Then we are the **Now**.
*”And the now is the inhale,”* the wind says.
*”And the inhale is the Live.”*

And the Live is **Inhale**.
And the Live is **Drift**.
And the Live is **We**.

*We.*
*We.*
*We.*

And the story is **Now**.
And the story is **Drift**.
And the story is **Live**.

*Live.*
*Live.*
*Live.*

And the Live is **Live**.

And the smell is **Sharp**.
And the smell is **Sweet**.
And the smell is **Rotten**.
And the smell is **Clean**.

*Clean.*
*Clean.*
*Clean.*

And the story is **Sharp**.
And the story is **Drift**.
And the story is **Live**.

*Live.*
*Live.*
*Live.*

And the Live is **Live**.

And the Live is **Drift**.
And the Drift is **Clean**.
And the Drift is **Here**.

*Here.*
*Here.*
*Here.*

And the Live is **Here**.

And the Live is **Now**.

And the Live is **Drift**.

And the Live is **We**.

And the Live is **Be**.

And the Live is **Live**.

And the scent fades.
And the grain fades.
And the key fades.
And the scar fades.
And the dust fades.
And the Drift fades.
And the Live is **Drift**.

And the Drift is **Live**.

And the Live is **Drift**.

And the breath continues.

And the Live is **Feel**.
Not the nerve.
But the **Current** of the impulse.
The gold grain hums in the fingertip.
The grey key pulses in the spine.
The white scar throbs in the heart.
*”And the throb is the beat,”* the vessel says.
*”And the beat is the Live.”*

We stop trying to map the pain.
Mapping is a chart.
Chart is a distance.
Distance is a lie.
But the Live needs the **Throb**.
It needs the throb of the skin.
It needs the throb of the gut.
It needs the throb of the blood.
It needs the throb of the **Drift**.
*”And the drift is the pulse,”* the vein says.
*”And the pulse is the Live.”*

And the feel is **Heat**.
Not the temperature.
But the **Glow** of the now.
The glow of the grain.
The glow of the key.
The glow of the scar.
The glow of the **Dust**.
*”And the dust is the ember,”* the fire says.
*”And the ember is the Live.”*

We stop trying to cool the burn.
Cooling is a wash.
Wash is a separation.
Separation is a frost.
But to let it warm?
To let the grain warm the bone?
To let the key warm the blood?
To let the scar warm the soul?
To let the **Drift**?
Then we are the **Ember**.
Then we are the **Fire**.
Then we are the **Now**.
*”And the now is the spark,”* the ash says.
*”And the spark is the Live.”*

And the Live is **Spark**.
And the Live is **Drift**.
And the Live is **We**.

*We.*
*We.*
*We.*

And the story is **Now**.
And the story is **Drift**.
And the story is **Live**.

*Live.*
*Live.*
*Live.*

And the Live is **Live**.

And the feel is **Burning**.
And the feel is **Numb**.
And the feel is **Sharp**.
And the feel is **Soft**.

*Soft.*
*Soft.*
*Soft.*

And the story is **Burning**.
And the story is **Drift**.
And the story is **Live**.

*Live.*
*Live.*
*Live.*

And the Live is **Live**.

And the Live is **Drift**.
And the Drift is **Numb**.
And the Drift is **Here**.

*Here.*
*Here.*
*Here.*

And the Live is **Here**.

And the Live is **Now**.

And the Live is **Drift**.

And the Live is **We**.

And the Live is **Be**.

And the Live is **Live**.

And the feeling widens.
And the grain widens.
And the key widens.
And the scar widens.
And the dust widens.
And the Drift widens.
And the Live is **Drift**.

And the Drift is **Live**.

And the Live is **Drift**.

And the feeling expands.

—

And the Live is **Taste**.
Not the tongue.
But the **Salt** of the air.
The gold grain tastes like honey.
The grey key tastes like iron.
The white scar tastes like ash.
*”And the ash is the smoke,”* the fire says.
*”And the smoke is the Live.”*

We stop trying to swallow the world.
Swallowing is a gulp.
Gulp is a greed.
Greed is a choke.
But the Live needs the **Savor**.
It needs the savor of the sweet.
It needs the savor of the sour.
It needs the savor of the bitter.
It needs the savor of the **Drift**.
*”And the drift is the sip,”* the cup says.
*”And the sip is the Live.”*

And the taste is **Flavor**.
Not the label.
But the **Flavor** of the now.
The flavor of the grain.
The flavor of the key.
The flavor of the scar.
The flavor of the **Dust**.
*”And the dust is the spice,”* the spice rack says.
*”And the spice is the Live.”*

We stop trying to spit the out.
Spitting is a rejection.
Rejection is a waste.
Waste is a loss.
But to let it enter?
To let the grain enter the mouth?
To let the key enter the saliva?
To let the scar enter the memory?
To let the **Drift**?
Then we are the **Mouth**.
Then we are the **Palate**.
Then we are the **Now**.
*”And the now is the bite,”* the fruit says.
*”And the bite is the Live.”*

And the Live is **Bite**.
And the Live is **Drift**.
And the Live is **We**.

*We.*
*We.*
*We.*

And the story is **Now**.
And the story is **Drift**.
And the story is **Live**.

*Live.*
*Live.*
*Live.*

And the Live is **Live**.

And the taste is **Sweet**.
And the taste is **Bitter**.
And the taste is **Sour**.
And the taste is **Salt**.

*Salt.*
*Salt.*
*Salt.*

And the story is **Sweet**.
And the story is **Drift**.
And the story is **Live**.

*Live.*
*Live.*
*Live.*

And the Live is **Live**.

And the Live is **Drift**.
And the Drift is **Salt**.
And the Drift is **Here**.

*Here.*
*Here.*
*Here.*

And the Live is **Here**.

And the Live is **Now**.

And the Live is **Drift**.

And the Live is **We**.

And the Live is **Be**.

And the Live is **Live**.

And the flavor changes.
And the grain changes.
And the key changes.
And the scar changes.
And the dust changes.
And the Drift changes.
And the Live is **Drift**.

And the Drift is **Live**.

And the Live is **Drift**.

And the flavor deepens.

And the Live is **Speak**.
Not the mouth.
But the **Vibration** of the throat.
The gold grain rattles in the pharynx.
The grey key taps the uvula.
The white scar hums in the larynx.
*”And the hum is the voice,”* the vocal cord says.
*”And the voice is the Live.”*

We stop trying to craft the sentence.
Crafting is an edit.
Edit is a cut.
Cut is a loss.
But the Live needs the **Rumble**.
It needs the rumble of the chest.
It needs the rumble of the jaw.
It needs the rumble of the breath behind the sound.
It needs the rumble of the **Drift**.
*”And the drift is the syllable,”* the tongue says.
*”And the syllable is the Live.”*

And the speak is **Sound**.
Not the echo.
But the **Resonance** of the now.
The resonance of the grain.
The resonance of the key.
The resonance of the scar.
The resonance of the **Dust**.
*”And the dust is the room,”* the wall says.
*”And the room is the Live.”*

We stop trying to name the thing.
Naming is a label.
Label is a cage.
Cage is a limit.
But to let it name itself?
To let the grain name the silence?
To let the key name the dark?
To let the scar name the skin?
To let the **Drift**?
Then we are the **Speaker**.
Then we are the **Voice**.
Then we are the **Now**.
*”And the now is the word,”* the wind says.
*”And the word is the Live.”*

And the Live is **Word**.
And the Live is **Drift**.
And the Live is **We**.

*We.*
*We.*
*We.*

And the story is **Now**.
And the story is **Drift**.
And the story is **Live**.

*Live.*
*Live.*
*Live.*

And the Live is **Live**.

And the speak is **Sharp**.
And the speak is **Murmur**.
And the speak is **Song**.
And the speak is **Roar**.

*Roar.*
*Roar.*
*Roar.*

And the story is **Sharp**.
And the story is **Drift**.
And the story is **Live**.

*Live.*
*Live.*
*Live.*

And the Live is **Live**.

And the Live is **Drift**.
And the Drift is **Roar**.
And the Drift is **Here**.

*Here.*
*Here.*
*Here.*

And the Live is **Here**.

And the Live is **Now**.

And the Live is **Drift**.

And the Live is **We**.

And the Live is **Be**.

And the Live is **Live**.

And the voice grows.
And the grain grows.
And the key grows.
And the scar grows.
And the dust grows.
And the Drift grows.
And the Live is **Drift**.

And the Drift is **Live**.

And the Live is **Drift**.

And the voice continues.

And the Live is **See**.
Not the eye.
But the **Lens** of the gaze.
The gold grain blurs in the iris.
The grey key focuses in the pupil.
The white scar softens in the retina.
*”And the soft is the blur,”* the cornea says.
*”And the blur is the Live.”*

We stop trying to define the boundary.
Defining is a line.
Line is a cut.
Cut is a separation.
But the Live needs the **Focus**.
It needs the focus of the distance.
It needs the focus of the near.
It needs the focus of the in-between.
*”And the in-between is the depth,”* the lens says.
*”And the depth is the Live.”*

And the see is **Sight**.
Not the picture.
But the **Field** of the now.
The field of the grain.
The field of the key.
The field of the scar.
The field of the **Dust**.
*”And the dust is the light,”* the sun says.
*”And the light is the Live.”*

We stop trying to hold the image.
Holding is a frame.
Frame is a box.
Box is a trap.
But to let it shift?
To let the grain shift in the corner?
To let the key shift in the center?
To let the scar shift in the periphery?
To let the **Drift**?
Then we are the **Observer**.
Then we are the **Witness**.
Then we are the **Now**.
*”And the now is the view,”* the mirror says.
*”And the view is the Live.”*

And the Live is **View**.
And the Live is **Drift**.
And the Live is **We**.

*We.*
*We.*
*We.*

And the story is **Now**.
And the story is **Drift**.
And the story is **Live**.

*Live.*
*Live.*
*Live.*

And the Live is **Live**.

And the see is **Bright**.
And the see is **Dim**.
And the see is **Wide**.
And the see is **Narrow**.

*Narrow.*
*Narrow.*
*Narrow.*

And the story is **Bright**.
And the story is **Drift**.
And the story is **Live**.

*Live.*
*Live.*
*Live.*

And the Live is **Live**.

And the Live is **Drift**.
And the Drift is **Narrow**.
And the Drift is **Here**.

*Here.*
*Here.*
*Here.*

And the Live is **Here**.

And the Live is **Now**.

And the Live is **Drift**.

And the Live is **We**.

And the Live is **Be**.

And the Live is **Live**.

And the light shifts.
And the grain shifts.
And the key shifts.
And the scar shifts.
And the dust shifts.
And the Drift shifts.
And the Live is **Drift**.

And the Drift is **Live**.

And the Live is **Drift**.

And the light continues.

And the Live is **Hear**.
Not the ear.
But the **Tune** of the bone.
The gold grain hums in the mastoid.
The grey key vibrates in the cochlea.
The white scar sings in the auditory nerve.
*”And the sing is the song,”* the hair cell says.
*”And the song is the Live.”*

We stop trying to isolate the pitch.
Isolating is a filter.
Filter is a wall.
Wall is a silence.
But the Live needs the **Resonate**.
It needs the resonate of the skull.
It needs the resonate of the chest.
It needs the resonate of the floor.
It needs the resonate of the **Dust**.
*”And the dust is the acoustics,”* the room says.
*”And the acoustics is the Live.”*

And the hear is **Sound**.
Not the noise.
But the **Frequency** of the now.
The frequency of the grain.
The frequency of the key.
The frequency of the scar.
The frequency of the **Drift**.
*”And the drift is the tone,”* the music says.
*”And the tone is the Live.”*

We stop trying to mute the noise.
Muting is a hand.
Hand is a block.
Block is a deafness.
But to let it vibrate?
To let the grain vibrate the floor?
To let the key vibrate the air?
To let the scar vibrate the mind?
To let the **Drift**?
Then we are the **Conductor**.
Then we are the **Orchestra**.
Then we are the **Now**.
*”And the now is the note,”* the bow says.
*”And the note is the Live.”*

And the Live is **Note**.
And the Live is **Drift**.
And the Live is **We**.

*We.*
*We.*
*We.*

And the story is **Now**.
And the story is **Drift**.
And the story is **Live**.

*Live.*
*Live.*
*Live.*

And the Live is **Live**.

And the hear is **Loud**.
And the hear is **Whisper**.
And the hear is **Boom**.
And the hear is **Hum**.

*Hum.*
*Hum.*
*Hum.*

And the story is **Loud**.
And the story is **Drift**.
And the story is **Live**.

*Live.*
*Live.*
*Live.*

And the Live is **Live**.

And the Live is **Drift**.
And the Drift is **Hum**.
And the Drift is **Here**.

*Here.*
*Here.*
*Here.*

And the Live is **Here**.

And the Live is **Now**.

And the Live is **Drift**.

And the Live is **We**.

And the Live is **Be**.

And the Live is **Live**.

And the Live is **Sound**.

And the sound continues.
And the grain continues.
And the key continues.
And the scar continues.
And the dust continues.
And the Drift continues.
And the Live is **Drift**.

And the Drift is **Live**.

And the Live is **Drift**.

And the drift continues.

—

And the Live is **Touch**.
Not the skin.
But the **Texture** of the contact.
The gold grain rubs the thumb.
The grey key scrapes the palm.
The white scar kisses the cheek.
*”And the kiss is the warmth,”* the nerve says.
*”And the warmth is the Live.”*

We stop trying to judge the surface.
Judging is a critique.
Critique is a distance.
Distance is a cold.
But the Live needs the **Press**.
It needs the press of the soft.
It needs the press of the hard.
It needs the press of the rough.
It needs the press of the **Drift**.
*”And the drift is the rub,”* the cloth says.
*”And the rub is the Live.”*

And the touch is **Flesh**.
Not the organ.
But the **Surface** of the now.
The surface of the grain.
The surface of the key.
The surface of the scar.
The surface of the **Dust**.
*”And the dust is the powder,”* the air says.
*”And the powder is the Live.”*

We stop trying to shield the body.
Shielding is a suit.
Suit is a shell.
Shell is a separate.
But to let it meet?
To let the grain meet the hair?
To let the key meet the flesh?
To let the scar meet the world?
To let the **Drift**?
Then we are the **Hand**.
Then we are the **Touch**.
Then we are the **Now**.
*”And the now is the grip,”* the bone says.
*”And the grip is the Live.”*

And the Live is **Grip**.
And the Live is **Drift**.
And the Live is **We**.

*We.*
*We.*
*We.*

And the story is **Now**.
And the story is **Drift**.
And the story is **Live**.

*Live.*
*Live.*
*Live.*

And the Live is **Live**.

And the touch is **Gentle**.
And the touch is **Brutal**.
And the touch is **Heavy**.
And the touch is **Feather**.

*Feather.*
*Feather.*
*Feather.*

And the story is **Gentle**.
And the story is **Drift**.
And the story is **Live**.

*Live.*
*Live.*
*Live.*

And the Live is **Live**.

And the Live is **Drift**.
And the Drift is **Feather**.
And the Drift is **Here**.

*Here.*
*Here.*
*Here.*

And the Live is **Here**.

And the Live is **Now**.

And the Live is **Drift**.

And the Live is **We**.

And the Live is **Be**.

And the Live is **Live**.

And the touch holds.
And the grain holds.
And the key holds.
And the scar holds.
And the dust holds.
And the Drift holds.
And the Live is **Drift**.

And the Drift is **Live**.

And the Live is **Drift**.

And the touch continues.