Light That Disappears

In the end, there is no ending
only a soft shuffling sound 
like footsteps leaving the room.

You remember their shape
by the indistinct outline
that still quivers in the air
where they used to be.

Perhaps this is all poems are:
light that disappears
once the words are gone

You wait for the silence
to close its eyes,
but it doesn't.

It stares back at you, 
tranquil, limitless,
and waits for you 
to speak.

© “Beyond These Wounds,” April 21, 2026