[Intro, quiet room tone, the door still settling, a year closing up] a year folds up smaller than I thought it would and the door opens like no time passed at all [Verse 1, restrained and close, almost spoken, wide space between lines] someone puts the kettle on without asking the way it has always been done in this room four cups come down from the shelf and none of them match, and nobody minds we say the small things first the weather, the road, how tall the hedge has gotten we are careful with the big ones we leave them where they are for now [Verse 2, same restraint, the light warmer, the voice settling into the room] by the second afternoon I stop checking the hour the light crosses the table and I let it somebody laughs at something I missed and I am glad to have missed it, glad that it happened nobody mentions the counting but every one of us knows the number four mornings, and then the ordinary week waiting patiently on the other side [Bridge, instruments thin out, cello and room tone only, one held breath] I used to think time was the thing that took this away that it was the quiet thief in the room now I think it is the only reason I get to hold any of this at all [Chorus, warm and wide, opening gently, never lifting into volume] so let it be long and unremarkable let the afternoon go slow this was never trying to be forever it is now, and now is a real place [Outro, gentle resolution, the light settling, full stop ending] I will fold the chairs back in on Sunday and the room will go quiet again but quiet is not the same as empty not after this, not anymore
