EXCERPT  |  Rob and I were as different as night and day. He was East Coast traditional, I was West Coast, not-quite conquered territory, looking another direction. I was fond of reminding him that 100 years ago, my side of the country didn’t belong to his, and was still not quite have-able, mail-order bride to a colonial groom. This was Rob: opera, a roaring rush of sound, thick and throbbing, something that soared out over the open ocean. This was me: poetry and piano, glass beads of sound, dropping into a stream, a source water yet undiscovered. Deep in the forest, the sound of water gliding over stones, a breathing thing that you hear before you see. I lived my life noticing all of its ripples and small reverberations. Rob was flying high above the clouds. He was air.

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