The Sound is a mirror today, at least while the sun break lasts. But I can see now the clouds are beginning to cover the sun, slowly wholly and the water’s morning peace is turning dim. I sang for her while she was dying. Her door was open and I sang so she could hear until she cried and I went to her. The words she said made her cry, love’s bitter mystery. I was silent. The Sound from here is a bowl of bitter waters. Where now?