LIGHT ENTERS, AS IF UNAWARE. IT SLICES THE AIR IN WHITE,
AND ALONG ITS EDGE, ASH GATHERS,
TRACING THE STILL, WHERE SOMETHING ONCE WAS.

A QUIET BREATH STIRS THE CURTAIN.
HAIRLINE CRACKS FEATHER ACROSS THE WALL, THIN AS SILENCE,
DEEP AS WIND. DUST SETTLES ON A CHAIR THAT HAS FORGOTTEN WEIGHT,
ON A DESK THAT REMEMBERS TOO MUCH.
EACH SPECK A TRACE— A SEDIMENT OF TIME.