What hold the lights,
What hold the sounds –
What silence scares me so
I ask nothing more than seeming
Mooring against the undertow
The land we knew
The land we forgot
Has never been and never will
And we carve ourselves poor crevices
Paste where glass once glowed
Only let me keep the stories
That can never be my own
The laughter of a dozen strangers
The comfort of a kingly home
What hold the light,
What hold the sounds
But a papery sanctuary
Against a sea long lost in changing
And the charts that sinking go
Serial Outlet 