MOURNING · LANTERN

intro — lead, bare

I set a small warm glow on the table.

Your name arrives first.

verse 1 — lead, slow, close

Morning comes, and the chair you loved stays quiet.

The kettle clicks; the room feels wider.

A scarf keeps your shape for one more breath,

salt on the wool, rain in the threads.

I reach for a joke, my mouth remembers—

then silence answers, tender, heavy.

I walk the same steps to the same door,

key-metal cold, palm-sweat warm.

Out in the street, a bird calls once,

and my ribs answer like a held note.

Grief lives here, in the small exact places—

in the pause before I speak,

in the way I turn to tell you.

chorus — choir, wide, singable

Lantern in my chest, steady ember,

your name stays close, soft and clear.

Lantern in my chest, steady ember,

I carry love through the air.

verse 2 — lead, more intimate detail

I open old messages, thumb slow on the screen,

your voice comes back—then leaves—then rings inside my skin.

A laugh you never finished sits under my tongue.

A sentence you began keeps walking, half-sung.

At the sink, water runs; I watch it choose a path,

and I think of your hands, and the way they held a glass.

I fold a shirt; the fabric resists,

as if it keeps your shoulders, still.

In the seam of the day, a fine gold dust appears—

not glitter, not show—more like quiet courage,

a warmth that says: keep going, keep gentle, keep near.

I breathe, and the room learns my breathing.

bridge — lead, fragile dignity, very close

I cry like weather: honest, passing, real.

I stand up straight; my knees still feel.

I place my palm where my heart keeps time,

and I speak your name like bread, like water, like home.

chorus — choir, fuller return

Lantern in my chest, steady ember,

your name stays close, soft and clear.

Lantern in my chest, steady ember,

I carry love through the air.

outro — unison, almost spoken

The glow stays small.

My life grows careful.

Your warmth keeps traveling.