I forgot how to breathe on a Tuesday at noon
So I borrowed some air from a cracked marble moon
And I held it too close, how it burned in my chest
So I coughed up a feather and put it to rest
In a drawer full of echoes from voices I knew
Then I closed it too fast and the drawer handle flew
Straight up to the ceiling and through to the roof
Where it hung by a thread that was painfully proof
That the stitches that held me were starting to show
So I pulled on the thread and I started to grow
Taller than buildings, taller than clouds
Till my head hit a place where the silence gets loud
And the silence said "Welcome, we've waited for you
We've folded your years like a shirt, worn and blue"
So I put on that shirt and it fit me too tight
And the buttons were stars that had burned out their light
I undid each one and they fell to the ground
Where a woman collected them, made no sound
She strung them together and hung them around
The neck of a horse that was lost and not found
...