Thoughts in the Winds

I was mid-step when it started—

not the beginning, just the in-bet—

a half-breath catching,

a word refusing its own shape,

like the tongue forgot what it meant to con—

The sidewalk leaned forward,

pulling me faster than my thoughts,

faster than my lips could hold them.

I tried to say light,

tried to say the way it breaks on brick,

but it slipped into li—

then vanished,

like chalk washed off in rain.

A bus roared by, carrying the rest of my sen—

and I thought maybe I should start again,

but the street was already mid-noise,

mid-blur, mid-cha—

and the silence after it

was louder than I could stand.

I reached for the memory of you—

not all of you, only the echo,

the shadow your voice left

on the edge of a doorway

I never walked through.

I thought, if I had turned back—

but I didn’t, and the if

split itself in two,

falling into an endless el—

Mid-step, I almost stopped.

Mid-sentence, I almost spoke.

But the air was quicker,

the wind carving away

what I had almost sworn to con—

And yet—

as evening gathered its colors,

as the noise folded itself into quiet,

I felt the pause soften,

like a hand resting lightly

on the small of my back.

No word was needed.

The sentence had ended

long before the voice could catch it,

and still,

the silence was kind enough

to carry me the rest of the way home.