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.

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.