Shepherding the winds across the sky
whispering through the storm’s eye
Washed-out highways, forgotten tunes
beneath the static moon
We’re ghosts on vinyl, my love
scratching out our names in denial
The needle drops—the record won’t stop
humming the past through copper-wire bones
And I swear I heard you singing
through the static in the AM radio—
So dance with me in the storm’s show
where the lyrics bleed slow









Beautifully penned, Adagio. Excellent write my friend. Appreciate you.
Damian
Thank you.