How hushed it is

We are the memory
The rain inside us knows.

The ashen lamp shades
and the dust settles on the ceiling fan.

I touch the darkness to feel the night
No door is closed today.

The sky is pressing its thumbs
into my eyes.

We leave our feet behind
Your protest makes a language quiver.

I am preparing for your arrival.
maps on the walls show the depth of the sea.