The fabric of the afternoon grew thin
Your voice a needle pulling golden thread
I let the daylight dissolve within
A tapestry of everything unsaid
Your fingers traced a pattern on my arm
A language older than the words we knew
Each gesture was a quiet kind of charm
That painted every ordinary hue
The garden gate was hanging half ajar
Beyond it lay a world we never crossed
I stood between the near and distant star
Counting the moments we had almost lost
A breeze arrived and lifted every page
Of stories written in disappearing ink
The characters dissolved at their own pace
And left me standing at the river brink
You taught me how to fold the light just so
To crease the morning into something soft
The way the threads of evening catch the glow
And hold it up when everything falls off
I kept the pattern memorized in skin
Though every weave has long since come undone
The dream persists where waking cannot enter in
A seamless loop with no true place begun
