your face
framed in my gaze
your smile
a sky without a sky
an abyss in an abyss
your hands
place the sun
flat into my hands
—everything—
turns into breaths
our bodies
weighed by time
open to infinite void
settle into a peaceful grace
These words are not mine
I found them in a dream
shaped in a language
without vowels
Written by a man
whose name was erased
perhaps, as an act of mercy
What’s left are
not arguments, but ruins
you may recognize
the outline of an old city
Or perhaps you’ll see nothing at all
Not the flame,
but the stone that endures it.
It waits.
And in waiting, becomes eternal.
To find it is not to win,
but to recognize.
Like the first word
ever spoken
returning to silence.