A young woman is on stage, microphone in hand. It is long and thin like a cigarette. The piano resolves into repeating sequence of chords. None of the other instruments find rest in such pleasant shade. They carry on, flutters and sparks, phrases elongated into scenes from a moving train, they produce sounds to which most would say they do not belong but were capable of the whole time.
The girl sings;
Since I caught your eye in the glass
Fading with the curtained sun
And waiting for you to look back
My heart ran like a rabbit
Smiling when I opened a door
Searching the patch for a carrot
Shimmer to fire
Strike match across my skin
Oh my darling
How long has it been
Since the harvest came seven summers in a row
And the steps became lighter
With your arm in tow
It feels like yesterday all those years ago
When you kissed me for the first time
The last seeds left to sow
Snow begins to fall. The harsh edges between light and shadow sparkle. You follow the movement up. There is no ceiling. You wonder if there ever was a ceilng.
Shimmer to fire
Strike match across my skin
Oh my darling
How long has it been
Since I lost your heart
In the interminable weeds
Ripping concrete apart
Oh isn't it funny
How a day can feel
With such hunger in your tummy
Shimmer to fire
Strike match across my skin
A flurry of sound and light.
Since the moon came down on us
Since the waters turned to dust
Since your shoulder held my chin
O-O-O-Oh my darling
,*'._/
The girl bows or maybe retreats, her hands folding into her cheek. The chords of the piano dissolve, the wind in the flutes settle, the knot of the strings slowly slips, silence begins to take more and more space. She is gone.