We left the porch light burning on words we never said,
shadows stacking like unread letters in the corners of our bed.
Your laugh cracked the night open, then slipped between the boards,
now the wind rehearses your name in chords I can’t afford.
I keep dialing that silence—every ring a hollow wave—
hearing ghosts trade memories where our futures should be saved.
If echoes could be mended, I’d sew the seam tonight,
but the clock keeps eating pages of the conversations we lost to light.