He's singing again. Progress.
I woke up to Iron & Wine this morning, coffee on a tray on the bed and a big handsome blonde man with a short fuzzy beard and a smile in his eyes singing to me while he played his guitar. I knew him from my sleepy fog by the ring he wore. It matched mine.
Some days her shape in the doorway
Will speak to me
A bird's wing up on the window
Sometimes I'll hear when she's sleeping
Her fever dream
A language on her face
