She lifts the guitar a second breath
its wooden curve familiar as hand
strings hold maps of years, love, death
each fret she’s learned to understand

Her fingers press where memory resides
not thinking now, but moving as they know
the instrument receives what she confides
and answers back in fierce and low

Together translate unseen air
silence shaped and heard
a life reduced to pulse laid bare
more truthful than limits of word

When all fails and nothing seems right
she tunes the world through wood and light