the notes are creaking and groaning in the spindly fingers, nails clutching the guttural wails and the metal vibrations running through the woodwork, the step is distinctly Spanish, staccato and light with a rich tremble and flashes of the red clay dust between the curled ringlets and the clicking heels.
the waves of noise are like shaman’s breath, straightening out the souls and shaking them back into their roots, teasing the lip and trembling over the chest of the evening airs, the past is living in the steady echoes, the aching twitch of the old fingers, 
bowing in unison 

for the eternal heartbeat of the string.


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