Breath of Home

The house breathes slowly, with the rhythm of dusk,
walls wet by the evening recall forgotten names,
each crack holds a breath that never ends.
The doors push back the air, opening silent memories,
names slip away from letters carved on the damp wall,
the scent of wax and rain fills the chamber.
The room receives footsteps that bear no name,
footprints on the floor gleam like wet stars,
the house guards those who never return within it.
When the evening closes, the house’s mouth falls quiet,
the breathing shifts, leaving just a memory of lost names,
the shadow keeps breathing with it, a slow sail in the dark.