nor answer here—
only breath,
only the ache
of having once been
smaller
than this.
As if sky
remembered you
before you arrived,
and stones
waited longer
than time
to speak your name.
You walked into the hush
without footsteps,
carried
by something older
than direction.
There is no arrival.
Only the opening—
again
and again—
like an eye
that does not close,
because it no longer needs to.
