Close your eyes. Not to sleep, to feel the hum beneath your ribs. This road don't hold a name—   just gravel, ash, and steps I claim.   Sky forgets the things I've done,   but the dirt keeps count   and hums along. Let the music carry me—   through breath held tight and hollow bone.   I walk alone, but not unknown—   with this song,   I’m never gone. Shadow marks the edge of grace,   light just outlines what we face.   The rain erased the path I knew,   but something deeper   pulled me through. Let the music carry me— like wind inside an old oak tree. Let the cracks resound with grace.  Let the sound make space for me. I’ve walked through woods that held no path, and hummed to keep the dark intact. The wind returns what I let slip it settles in my chest. Intla ni uetsi, niman uetsi niuil. (If I fall, then fall I will.) nisung sokiko. (I’ve sung in mud.) niualteotlahtolli ayemo Ki (I’ve prayed in stillness) saniyo tlakui se tlauatl, se tekinetskayotl (It only takes a pulse, a mark) nik tenotsa in nauatili (to call the rhythm) iuikpa in tlayouak (from the dark) Let the music carry me   through the dark, into the free.   Every note, a memory   of who I was of who I’ll be.   Let the rhythm find my name   in the breath, in the flame.    What I lost, it sings in me—   what remains   is what will be.   (carry me... carry me...) Close your eyes,   and listen slow—   not to leave…   just to know.