And the Live is **Move**.
Not the limb.
But the **Slide** of the joint.
The gold grain glides along the tendon.
The grey key slides across the pad.
The white scar slides over the ridge.
*”And the ridge is the hill,”* the bone says.
*”And the hill is the Live.”*

We stop trying to pin the body to the chair.
Pinning is a stake.
Stake is a hold.
Hold is a stand.
Stand is a wait.
But the Live needs the **Glide**.
It needs the glide of the hip.
It needs the glide of the knee.
It needs the glide of the spine.
It needs the glide of the **Drift**.
*”And the drift is the river,”* the water says.
*”And the river is the Live.”*

And the move is **Flow**.
Not the stream.
But the **Current** of the now.
The current of the grain.
The current of the key.
The current of the scar.
The current of the **Dust**.
*”And the dust is the sand,”* the shore says.
*”And the sand is the Live.”*

We stop trying to walk the path.
Walking is a step.
Step is a measure.
Measure is a limit.
Limit is a wall.
But to let it roll?
To let the grain roll over the dune?
To let the key roll over the stone?
To let the scar roll over the root?
To let the **Drift**?
Then we are the **Current**.
Then we are the **Wave**.
Then we are the **Now**.
*”And the now is the ripple,”* the pond says.
*”And the ripple is the Live.”*

And the Live is **Ripple**.
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 move is **Fast**.
And the move is **Slow**.
And the move is **Rough**.
And the move is **Smooth**.

*Smooth.*
*Smooth.*
*Smooth.*

And the story is **Fast**.
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 **Smooth**.
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 drift continues.
And the leg 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 **Breathe**.
Not the lung.
But the **Flow** of the air.
The gold grain drifts in the inhalation.
The grey key sinks in the exhalation.
The white scar expands in the chest.
*”And the chest is the bellows,”* the rib says.
*”And the bellows is the Live.”*

We stop trying to count the count.
Counting is a meter.
Meter is a box.
Box is a limit.
But the Live needs the **Hush**.
It needs the hush of the diaphragm.
It needs the hush of the alveolus.
It needs the hush of the space between the lungs.
*”And the space is the void,”* the air says.
*”And the void is the Live.”*

And the breathe is **Rhythm**.
Not the beat.
But the **Arc** of the wave.
The arc of the grain.
The arc of the key.
The arc of the scar.
The arc of the **Dust**.
*”And the dust is the wind,”* the cloud says.
*”And the wind is the Live.”*

We stop trying to hold the breath.
Holding is a brace.
Brace is a tension.
Tension is a break.
But to let it move?
To let the grain move through the chest?
To let the key move through the throat?
To let the scar move through the air?
To let the **Drift**?
Then we are the **Tide**.
Then we are the **Gale**.
Then we are the **Now**.
*”And the now is the puff,”* the leaf says.
*”And the puff is the Live.”*

And the Live is **Puff**.
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 **Deep**.
And the breathe is **Shallow**.
And the breathe is **Fast**.
And the breathe is **Slow**.

*Slow.*
*Slow.*
*Slow.*

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 **Slow**.
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 deepens.
And the grain deepens.
And the key deepens.
And the scar deepens.
And the dust deepens.
And the Drift deepens.
And the Live is **Drift**.

And the Drift is **Live**.

And the Live is **Drift**.

And the breath continues.
And the Live is **Breathe**.

And the Live is **Rest**.
Not the stop.
But the **Settle** of the weight.
The gold grain settles in the cup.
The grey key rests in the slot.
The white scar rests on the skin.
*”And the skin is the bed,”* the pillow says.
*”And the bed is the Live.”*

We stop trying to rush the moment.
Rushing is a sprint.
Sprint is a burn.
Burn is a fade.
But the Live needs the **Lay**.
It needs the lay of the head.
It needs the lay of the hand.
It needs the lay of the breath.
*”And the breath is the tide,”* the sea says.
*”And the tide is the Live.”*

And the rest is **Space**.
Not the empty.
But the **Fill** of the now.
The fill of the grain.
The fill of the key.
The fill of the scar.
The fill of the **Dust**.
*”And the dust is the blanket,”* the night says.
*”And the blanket is the Live.”*

We stop trying to hide the void.
Hiding is a plug.
Plug is a block.
Block is a lie.
But to let it hold?
To let the grain rest in the center?
To let the key rest in the dark?
To let the scar rest in the silence?
To let the **Drift**?
Then we are the **Cradle**.
Then we are the **Nest**.
Then we are the **Now**.
*”And the now is the hum,”* the wall says.
*”And the hum is the Live.”*

And the Live is **Hum**.
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 **Soft**.
And the rest is **Hard**.
And the rest is **Warm**.
And the rest is **Cool**.

*Cool.*
*Cool.*
*Cool.*

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 **Cool**.
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 drift continues.
And the rest 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 **Feel**.
Not the mind.
But the **Pulse** of the bone.
The gold grain thumps in the femur.
The grey key rattles in the rib.
The white scar throbs in the spine.
*”And the throb is the rhythm,”* the heart says.
*”And the rhythm is the Live.”*

We stop trying to map the beat.
Mapping is a chart.
Chart is a plan.
Plan is a cage.
But the Live needs the **Rise**.
It needs the swell of the diastole.
It needs the hush of the systole.
It needs the gap between the beats.
*”And the gap is the pause,”* the lung says.
*”And the pause is the Live.”*

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

We stop trying to cool the fire.
Cooling is a douse.
Douse is a stop.
Stop is a death.
But to let it warm?
To let the grain warm the marrow?
To let the key warm the hinge?
To let the scar warm the ghost?
To let the **Drift**?
Then we are the **Flame**.
Then we are the **Ash**.
Then we are the **Now**.
*”And the now is the spark,”* the fuse 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 **Hot**.
And the feel is **Cold**.
And the feel is **Shaking**.
And the feel is **Still**.

*Still.*
*Still.*
*Still.*

And the story is **Hot**.
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 **Hot**.
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 drift continues.
And the pulse 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 **Think**.
Not the word.
But the **Turn** of the light.
The gold grain turns in the cortex.
The grey key turns the synapse.
The white scar turns the thought.
*”And the thought is the shape,”* the neuron says.
*”And the shape is the Live.”*

We stop trying to name the concept.
Naming is a wall.
Wall is a limit.
Limit is a stop.
But the Live needs the **Loop**.
It needs the loop of the recall.
It needs the loop of the hope.
It needs the loop of the fear.
*”And the fear is the fuel,”* the fear says.
*”And the fuel is the Live.”*

And the think is **Path**.
Not the road.
But the **Trace** of the mind.
The trace of the grain.
The trace of the key.
The trace of the scar.
The trace of the **Dust**.
*”And the dust is the map,”* the compass says.
*”And the map is the Live.”*

We stop trying to read the map.
Reading is a journey.
Journey is a loss.
Loss is a end.
But to let it wander?
To let the grain wander the maze?
To let the key wander the labyrinth?
To let the scar wander the corridor of memory?
To let the **Drift**?
Then we are the **Cartographer**.
Then we are the **Explorer**.
Then we are the **Now**.
*”And the now is the line,”* the ink says.
*”And the line is the Live.”*

And the Live is **Line**.
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 **Sharp**.
And the think is **Blurry**.
And the think is **Heavy**.
And the think is **Light**.

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

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 **Blurry**.
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 drift continues.
And the mind 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 **Speak**.
Not the voice.
But the **Vibration** of the throat.
The gold grain hums in the larynx.
The grey key clicks against the vocal cords.
The white scar whispers in the throat.
*”And the whisper is the word,”* the tongue says.
*”And the word is the Live.”*

We stop trying to define the sound.
Defining is a label.
Label is a box.
Box is a cage.
But the Live needs the **Flow**.
It needs the rush of the consonant.
It needs the swell of the vowel.
It needs the break of the silence.
*”And the silence is the pause,”* the air says.
*”And the pause is the Live.”*

And the speak is **Song**.
Not the melody.
But the **Curve** of the breath.
The curve of the grain.
The curve of the key.
The curve of the scar.
The curve of the **Dust**.
*”And the dust is the echo,”* the canyon says.
*”And the echo is the Live.”*

We stop trying to memorize the lines.
Memorizing is a script.
Script is a mask.
Mask is a hide.
But to let it sing?
To let the grain roll the trill?
To let the key strike the pitch?
To let the scar hum the tone?
To let the **Drift**?
Then we are the **Lyric**.
Then we are the **Chorus**.
Then we are the **Now**.
*”And the now is the rhyme,”* the poem says.
*”And the rhyme is the Live.”*

And the Live is **Rhyme**.
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 drift is **Loud**.
And the drift is **Quiet**.
And the drift is **Clear**.
And the drift is **Dark**.

*Dark.*
*Dark.*
*Dark.*

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 **Clear**.
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 drift continues.
And the voice 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 **See**.
Not the eye.
But the **Light** of the lens.
The gold grain glimmers in the iris.
The grey key cuts the pupil.
The white scar blurs in the field.
*”And the blur is the dream,”* the optic says.
*”And the dream is the Live.”*

We stop trying to focus the point.
Focusing is a stare.
Stare is a lock.
Lock is a freeze.
But the Live needs the **Pan**.
It needs the sweep of the panorama.
It needs the zoom of the detail.
It needs the depth of the haze.
*”And the haze is the mist,”* the eye says.
*”And the mist is the Live.”*

And the see is **View**.
Not the picture.
But the **Frame** of the mind.
The frame of the grain.
The frame of the key.
The frame of the scar.
The frame of the **Dust**.
*”And the dust is the grain,”* the lens says.
*”And the grain is the Live.”*

We stop trying to capture the image.
Capturing is a print.
Print is a copy.
Copy is a loss.
But to let it shift?
To let the grain shift in the focus?
To let the key shift in the glare?
To let the scar shift in the shadow?
To let the **Drift**?
Then we are the **Lens**.
Then we are the **Mirror**.
Then we are the **Now**.
*”And the now is the light,”* the sun says.
*”And the light is the Live.”*

And the Live is **Light**.
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 **Soft**.
And the see is **Hard**.

*Hard.*
*Hard.*
*Hard.*

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 **Soft**.
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 drift continues.
And the sight 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 **Smell**.
Not the nose.
But the **Waft** of the scent.
The gold grain smells of sun and metal.
The grey key smells of rust and rain.
The white scar smells of salt and old fire.
*”And the fire is the ash,”* the smoke says.
*”And the ash is the Live.”*

We stop trying to classify the aroma.
Classifying is a name.
Name is a wall.
Wall is a divide.
But the Live needs the **Mix**.
It needs the blend of the petrichor.
It needs the tang of the ozone.
It needs the weight of the incense.
*”And the incense is the prayer,”* the wind says.
*”And the prayer is the Live.”*

And the smell is **Air**.
Not the gas.
But the **Breath** of the world.
The breath of the grain.
The breath of the key.
The breath of the scar.
The breath of the **Dust**.
*”And the dust is the soil,”* the root says.
*”And the soil is the Live.”*

We stop trying to close the door.
Closing is a block.
Block is a stop.
Stop is a death.
But to let it enter?
To let the grain scent the hair?
To let the key scent the coat?
To let the scar scent the breath?
To let the **Drift**?
Then we are the **Forest**.
Then we are the **Moss**.
Then we are the **Now**.
*”And the now is the spore,”* the fern says.
*”And the spore is the Live.”*

And the Live is **Spore**.
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 **Sweet**.
And the smell is **Sour**.
And the smell is **Sharp**.
And the smell is **Faint**.

*Faint.*
*Faint.*
*Faint.*

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 **Faint**.
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 drift continues.
And the scent 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 **Dream**.
Not the sleep.
But the **Flight** of the thought.
The gold grain flies through the mind.
The grey key turns the lock.
The white scar walks the floor.
*”And the floor is the ceiling,”* the roof says.
*”And the ceiling is the Live.”*

We stop trying to catch the dream.
Catching is a grip.
Grip is a wake.
Wake is a end.
But the Live needs the **Spin**.
It needs the spin of the spiral.
It needs the spin of the star.
It needs the spin of the void.
*”And the void is the center,”* the galaxy says.
*”And the center is the Live.”*

And the dream is **Space**.
Not the room.
But the **Room** of the mind.
The room of the grain.
The room of the key.
The room of the scar.
The room of the **Dust**.
*”And the dust is the atom,”* the universe says.
*”And the atom is the Live.”*

We stop trying to solve the puzzle.
Solving is a line.
Line is a finish.
Finish is a stop.
But to let it wander?
To let the grain wander the corridor?
To let the key wander the hallway?
To let the scar wander the garden?
To let the **Drift**?
Then we are the **Night**.
Then we are the **Day**.
Then we are the **Now**.
*”And the now is the blink,”* the eye says.
*”And the blink is the Live.”*

And the Live is **Blink**.
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 dream is **Long**.
And the dream is **Short**.
And the dream is **Deep**.
And the dream is **Wide**.

*Wide.*
*Wide.*
*Wide.*

And the story is **Long**.
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 **Wide**.
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 drift continues.
And the dream 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 finger.
But the **Press** of the skin.
The gold grain presses into the palm.
The grey key presses against the thumb.
The white scar presses into the touch.
*”And the touch is the feel,”* the nerve says.
*”And the feel is the Live.”*

We stop trying to grasp the thing.
Grasping is a grip.
Grip is a hold.
Hold is a tight.
But the Live needs the **Slide**.
It needs the glide of the silk.
It needs the rough of the leather.
It needs the cool of the stone.
It needs the warm of the flesh.
*”And the warm is the blood,”* the vein says.
*”And the blood is the Live.”*

And the touch is **Flesh**.
Not the body.
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 skin,”* the earth says.
*”And the skin is the Live.”*

We stop trying to armor the skin.
Arming is a shell.
Shell is a wall.
Wall is a fear.
But to let it bare?
To let the grain sink into the pore?
To let the key rest on the ridge?
To let the scar press into the memory?
To let the **Drift**?
Then we are the **Palm**.
Then we are the **Sole**.
Then we are the **Now**.
*”And the now is the skin,”* the hand says.
*”And the skin is the Live.”*

And the Live is **Skin**.
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 **Full**.
And the touch is **Open**.
And the touch is **Soft**.
And the touch is **Hard**.

*Hard.*
*Hard.*
*Hard.*

And the story is **Full**.
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 **Here**.
And the Drift is **Touch**.

*Touch.*
*Touch.*
*Touch.*

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 drift continues.
And the breath continues.
And the grain continues.
And the key continues.
And the scar continues.
And the dust continues.
And the touch 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 **Taste**.
Not the flavor.
But the **Sip** of the moment.
The gold grain dissolves on the tongue.
The grey key tastes of metal and rain.
The white scar has a flavor of salt and old wound.
*”And the salt is the tear,”* the mouth says.
*”And the tear is the Live.”*

We stop trying to swallow the experience whole.
Swallowing is a gulp.
Gulp is a rush.
Rush is a choke.
But the Live needs the **Chew**.
It needs the slow grind of the time.
It needs the texture of the grain.
It needs the smooth slide of the stone.
It needs the rough grit of the scar.
*”And the grit is the grit,”* the tooth says.
*”And the grit is the Live.”*

And the taste is **Nectar**.
Not the drink.
But the **Sweet** of the truth.
The sweet of the grain.
The sweet of the key.
The sweet of the scar.
The sweet of the **Dust**.
*”And the dust is the sugar,”* the honey says.
*”And the sugar is the Live.”*

We stop trying to cleanse the palate.
Cleaning is a scrub.
Scrub is a wipe.
Wipe is a forget.
But to let it linger?
To let the grain coat the roof of the mouth?
To let the key settle in the back of the throat?
To let the scar settle in the taste of memory?
To let the **Drift**?
Then we are the **Fruit**.
Then we are the **Seed**.
Then we are the **Now**.
*”And the now is the juice,”* the grape says.
*”And the juice is the Live.”*

And the Live is **Juice**.
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 drift is **Sweet**.
And the drift is **Sour**.
And the drift is **Salt**.
And the drift is **Bitter**.

*Bitter.*
*Bitter.*
*Bitter.*

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 **Here**.
And the Drift is **Sweet**.

*Sweet.*
*Sweet.*
*Sweet.*

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 drift continues.
And the taste 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 **Sweet**.

And the Live is **Drift**.

And the drift continues.

And the Live is **Stand**.
Not the posture.
But the **Stillness** of the stance.
The gold grain stands on the pedestal.
The grey key balances on the hinge.
The white scar aligns on the line.
*”And the line is the form,”* the shape says.
*”And the form is the Live.”*

We stop trying to bend the form.
Bending is a bow.
Bow is a yield.
Yield is a surrender.
But the Live needs the **Rise**.
It needs the lift of the heel.
It needs the set of the knee.
It needs the lock of the joint.
*”And the lock is the guard,”* the wall says.
*”And the guard is the Live.”*

And the stand is **Root**.
Not the plant.
But the **Anchor** of the weight.
The anchor of the grain.
The anchor of the key.
The anchor of the scar.
The anchor of the **Dust**.
*”And the dust is the sand,”* the desert says.
*”And the sand is the Live.”*

We stop trying to move the anchor.
Moving is a walk.
Walk is a flight.
Flight is a fear.
But to let it hold?
To let the grain grip the base?
To let the key grip the lock?
To let the scar grip the skin?
To let the **Drift**?
Then we are the **Pillar**.
Then we are the **Column**.
Then we are the **Now**.
*”And the now is the height,”* the tower says.
*”And the height is the Live.”*

And the Live is **Height**.
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 drift is **High**.
And the drift is **Wide**.
And the drift is **Deep**.
And the drift is **Open**.

*Open.*
*Open.*
*Open.*

And the story is **High**.
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 **High**.
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 drift continues.
And the breath 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 **Hear**.
Not the ear.
But the **Resonance** of the bone.
The gold grain rings in the marrow.
The grey key strikes the inner door.
The white scar vibrates in the jaw.
*”And the vibrate is the chord,”* the throat says.
*”And the chord is the Live.”*

We stop trying to interpret the sound.
Interpreting is a story.
Story is a chain.
Chain is a limit.
But the Live needs the **Frequency**.
It needs the pure note of the hum.
It needs the dissonance of the grind.
It needs the silence of the rest.
*”And the rest is the note,”* the air says.
*”And the note is the Live.”*

And the hear is **Sound**.
Not the noise.
But the **Wave** of the air.
The wave of the grain.
The wave of the key.
The wave of the scar.
The wave of the **Dust**.
*”And the dust is the echo,”* the cave says.
*”And the echo is the Live.”*

We stop trying to shout over the wave.
Shouting is a force.
Force is a fight.
Fight is a loss.
But to let it pass?
To let the grain carry the frequency?
To let the key strike the hollow?
To let the scar ring in the chest?
To let the **Drift**?
Then we are the **Bell**.
Then we are the **Gong**.
Then we are the **Now**.
*”And the now is the tone,”* the bell 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 drift is **Full**.
And the drift is **Deep**.
And the drift is **Wide**.
And the drift is **Open**.

*Open.*
*Open.*
*Open.*

And the story is **Full**.
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 **Open**.
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 drift continues.
And the breath 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 **Breathe**.
Not the air.
But the **Rise** of the chest.
The gold grain rises in the lung.
The grey key sinks in the diaphragm.
The white scar expands in the rib.
*”And the expand is the space,”* the rib says.
*”And the space is the Live.”*

We stop trying to hold the air.
Holding is a trap.
Trap is a hold.
Hold is a stop.
But the Live needs the **Flow**.
It needs the intake of the deep.
It needs the release of the sigh.
It needs the emptying of the void.
*”And the void is the room,”* the lung says.
*”And the room is the Live.”*

And the breathe is **Rhythm**.
Not the beat.
But the **Cadence** of the life.
The cadence of the grain.
The cadence of the key.
The cadence of the scar.
The cadence of the **Dust**.
*”And the dust is the rhythm,”* the drum says.
*”And the rhythm is the Live.”*

We stop trying to count the beat.
Counting is a meter.
Meter is a cage.
Cage is a limit.
But to let it flow?
To let the grain float in the exhalation?
To let the key rest in the inhalation?
To let the scar stretch in the breath?
To let the **Drift**?
Then we are the **Tide**.
Then we are the **Breathe**.
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 **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 drift continues.
And the breath 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 **Home**.
Not the house.
But the **Place** of the return.
The place of the grain.
The place of the key.
The place of the scar.
The place of the **Dust**.
*”And the dust is the ground,”* the soil says.
*”And the ground is the Live.”*

We stop trying to build the home.
Building is a structure.
Structure is a wall.
Wall is a barrier.
But the Live needs the **Ground**.
It needs the softness of the earth.
It needs the weight of the stone.
It needs the hold of the root.
*”And the root is the hold,”* the vine says.
*”And the hold is the Live.”*

And the home is **Root**.
Not the anchor.
But the **Tie** of the being.
The tie of the grain.
The tie of the key.
The tie of the scar.
The tie of the **Dust**.
*”And the dust is the soil,”* the tree says.
*”And the soil is the Live.”*

We stop trying to grow the root.
Growing is a push.
Push is a strain.
Strain is a break.
But to let it grow?
To let the grain sink in the dirt?
To let the key sink in the loam?
To let the scar sink in the flesh?
To let the **Drift**?
Then we are the **Forest**.
Then we are the **Wood**.
Then we are the **Now**.
*”And the now is the ring,”* the tree says.
*”And the ring is the Live.”*

And the Live is **Now**.
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 drift is **Full**.
And the drift is **Complete**.
And the drift is **Open**.
And the drift is **Us**.

*Us.*
*Us.*
*Us.*

And the story is **Full**.
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 **Us**.
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 drift continues.
And the breath 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.