In the Margins

Between floorboards where dust settles like snow, a spider writes its ledger— small notations in the dark.

The kettle holds its breath, steam rising in spirals that no one traces, invisible cartography.

Your shadow on the wall longer now as evening thickens, a silhouette of someone becoming stranger to itself.

In the pause between words, whole conversations live— the things we almost said, the almost-touch of fingertips.