some things heal when no one sees
like lullabies in drifting breeze
a voice like honey before the sleep
a book half-read, a dream to keep

you don’t need reason to weep at the moon
or hum to the spoons as the kettle croons
you owe no words to the softest things
some love is feathered, folded wings

a whisper caught in hallway seams
a song that haunts your in-between
a hush that knew you long before
you ever closed or locked a door

and hope, some days, is kettle steam
a lavender hush, a half-spun dream
a melody warm as a hand to hold
and sometimes, that hand
is your own

T.M.