227 / viewing memory instead as a swollen creek— layers of mud, silt covering the end of days, final moments before night—
Absence versus presence.
There are moments when an absence allows its presence to be known. It declares itself as a missing note on a scale. The interval between the ticks of the metronome. The lack of a footfall on the stairwell.
A moment once existed before the first note, when his eyesight hovered over the keys of the clavichord sizing up the intensity of it all.
The shadows of his fingertips would first strike the keys and then the weight of intention. The weight of possibilities; the instinctual notes in his head,
His house missing the weight of his daily inspiration building a bridge between concept and actuality—