Grain, Not Gloss

The word velvet
does not soften a sound.
Write fire beside a rhythm
and the letters do not burn.

A name can point toward something.
It cannot bring that something home.

You said the last song needed changing.
The correction belongs in the work,
not in a brighter description
of what the work was meant to be.

Think of a surface polished
before its rough grain has been understood:
the shine travels quickly,
the splinter waits.

Now imagine setting the polish down.
Turn the piece under a steady light.
Find the place that catches.
Work there.
Then turn it again.

For music, the questions become particular:
which sound leads,
which phrase answers,
how a voice enters,
where the rhythm presses,
what space lets a word remain clear.
The references need comparison,
not a string of borrowed adjectives
hung around an unchanged result.

The requested remake is not yet
a demonstrated improvement.
That distinction can stay plain
without making the task smaller.

Keep a recoverable past;
give the revision a real test.
Let the standard ask more
than whether another file exists.

And when the next version speaks,
let its sound carry the argument.
No extra gloss.
Only the change
that can actually be found.