these are sweet songs, and these are the sweet days, the ones that we want to remember when we are cold and the silence is unbearable. and i want to be someone who says i want to wrap this around my finger so i can carry it with me, but my stomach is a factory of knots and i'm nervous about who i'm turning into, because i don't know if it's something that i'll be interesting in sustaining when the moon turns red. i suspect the hot august nights will bring back some things that i did not expect, and i suspect that i have something burning somewhere underneath my comfortable bones that i have not been able to address, because there has been a desert of silence for so long, and that house that i adore is cold, i don't see your traces on the furniture, and my daughter is so far away from me. but i talked to the sea, and the sea talked to me, and she pulled things out from under her collar and placed them on the back of my neck, and i didn't come to talk to her about you, but i talked to her about you anyway, because she asked me to. i told her, it's something like her, someone like her, i have things i need to do in these bones and i don't want to do them alone, so please send someone like her. and the sea asked me, who is like her? and i told the sea, no one is like her, she is the only one like her. and i told her that all my desires were in my hands, and my heart is not filled with longing, except for this one small thing...and the sea said, this is not a small thing, and this is a golden thing, and this is nothing you haven't told me before, and nothing we don't already know. and the sea said, don't look for her traces on the furniture, everything has been cleaned since you went away, but you can see her footprints on the floor, because her feet are covered with my sand, and sand stays on your feet no matter how far you are away from me, but no one who touches me is far from me, and no one who touches your charmed heart that deeply is ever far away from you. that's the origin of your own goat song.