The air stands still,
the fan ticks slow,
a page swings once to soft show.
Each motion stirs, a hidden scene,
a blur between what was and been.
This quiet room still holds the trace
of words we never tried to place.
A single light,
a leaning wall,
I wonder if you saw it all.
Time slips past like filtered light,
not quite the day,
not quite the night.
The mug half cold,
the corner ***,
your echo stretched out faint and thin.
This quiet room still holds the trace
of words we never tried to place.
A single light, a
leaning wall, I wonder if you saw it all.
I watch the edge where moments stall,
I'm
almost morning, barely fall.
Couldn't shift with no real breeze,
the stillness hums in minor keys.
I mark the hour without
sound, still in the place that you never found.
This quiet room still holds the trace of words
we never tried to place.
A single light, a leaning wall,
I wonder if you saw it all.
Ages move,
but won't let go.