Katherine is reading this and in the slow rain between each word she hears her lips closing in the way a love note is folded kept for years alone in a drawer half wood, half as if its darkness is after something else on the page she can't remember touching before vaguely, if someone older says so though a star can be born and die before its light reaches her eyes holding on to these dim shapes that have no sound yet—it's too soon —she will forget how far and you what she hears at every chance.