Indigo Hands

[Verse 1]
(Spoken)
The bunchgrass sits soaking in a tin bucket on the porch.
Smells like pluff mud and the storm that’s been threatening since August.
I watch you through the screen door, moving through the kitchen.
My hands know the pattern, the coil, the stitch—they knew the ending before my body did.

[Chorus]
(Sung)
These indigo hands are plaiting a ghost
Weaving a space for what I’ll miss the most
A basket to hold the shape of the air
After you’re gone from here

[Verse 2]
(Spoken)
Last week, you looked over your book and said, “Feels like the pressure’s dropping.”
Just talking about the weather. But I cataloged the silence after.
I measured the distance between your shoulder and mine on the sofa.
Felt like a whole barrier island had risen up in the space of a breath.

[Chorus]
(Sung)
These indigo hands are plaiting a ghost
Weaving a space for what I’ll miss the most
A basket to hold the shape of the air
After you’re gone from here

[Bridge]
(Sung)
This isn’t a memory palace
It’s just a house, it's just a room
This isn't a heart breaking open
It's just a husk making room

[Outro]
(Spoken over single acoustic guitar)
The coil is closed.
It’s ready now.