The best Folk lines from the corpus.

While bits of hair fall soft as snow around his chair

I'm holding your guitar, one string still snapped

My hands too big for one glass

This gold band weighs different every morning

I was always meant to fall

Lukewarm tea growing skin on the kitchen table

While little bits of hair are falling soft as snow around his chair

Your coffee mug sits heavy in my hands

Turning circles on a different wedding band

Dented but still holding heat

Your pen running out of ink

It's the morning I forget I'm lying

From this barn made of rain

But the moving truck comes when the kitchen still smells like butter

Then I come home to the silent phone

I'm afraid if I close my eyes / I'll have to open them again

Light accuses sideways through the kitchen window

Whiskey tastes like dirt now

But they hold her hand when we go to bed

Mist rising from the valley like the earth is breathing

His shoulders in my shadow when I stand up

These hands know applause, not prayer position

Rain on tin sounds like his hands were working

But my hands remembered twenty-seven

Your hair tie, still holding its shape

Salt and cold and engine grease and open

But even David's harp fell silent / When Bathsheba closed her door

The field holds its breath / And I hold here

Phone pleading in my pocket

But promises don't change your hands / And your hands don't lie