The Quiet Architecture

The dust settles on the windowsill, Tracing the arc of a forgotten sun, While shadows stretch like cooling iron Across the hardwood floor.

We built these walls to hold the wind, To trap the murmurs of a shifting season, But every draft speaks of the open fields, Where the grass remembers nothing.

Only the foundation knows the weight Of the sky pressing down, A heavy stillness settling In the spaces between our words.