I can taste dirt in my lungs. Dirt from the old shop floor Where my things now live. Spring is loud. Too loud to know where, or from whom, the sound began. I know I'm not supposed to be here. Or maybe it is he who stayed too long. But we share 3 things. Three beautiful noise-making things. Three humans whom I will not see grow old. Their first half, they share with us. Here. Inside the shop. On the loud, sunny, rented patch of land.