There's rain on the line between his ear and mine/Lost in translation, bad patient/I'm a terrier, a black sheep, half-relation/He's French, a hack, white, Caucasian/We [bad word] in sadness, a cold [bad word] Then we're fine for a while, our hearts adjacent/He types, I read and we clash on the keys/He corrects, I direct the bones of the text/But he's silent, too ill, too fragile, too still and I'm violent and rash, slow down for the crash