The silence spreads like mist
over the field that no longer exists.
The earth no longer feels the footsteps,
doesn’t remember the bodies that passed through.

The wind, a distant whisper,
carries unspoken words
and stories lost before they are told.

There is a place where time gives up
on being continuous and dissolves
into fragments of light and shadow.

Nothing is whole,
everything is a piece of something
we don’t know the name of.

The eyes search,
but what is seen
is not what is sought.
And the hands, empty,
try to touch the air,
but the air never allows itself to be held.

What remains is the doubt
about what we were
and what we will still be.
And perhaps, that is all we have:
the moment, the uncertainty, the emptiness
that is not afraid to be.