There's a mixtape I play in the car
Of the songs we sang in Spain
With hand drums and a travel guitar
Wine-blind verses and loud refrains
They're older now, of course
The songs and the friends
Voices grow faint
Spines begin to bend
And memories, little memories, little memories
Hang like motes in the air
Of a sun-filled room
When we think for some time
About who we are-browning fruits
On the apple tree-we can linger on
The moon and stars: close as ever
At apogee
Who says the dream song needs an audience
Believes the flat earth needs its humans