Clouds in the Drawer

A cloud, light, brushes against the floor.
It rustles through the folds of yellowed papers.
It finds within the drawer photographs, keepers of time.
Resting its forehead on printed faces.
A smile changes tone, for a single beat.
Memory loosens, like a lock yielding to the wind.
The images open with a breath of rain in the kitchen.
The cloud leafs through pages, painting a miniature sky.
Every snapshot becomes a window toward an unseen time.
Then it departs, leaving a scent of ozone and glue.
The drawer breathes, and the rustling fades into the air.
Only remains the silence that tastes of rain and light.