Embroidery in the Dark

In the dark a chair whispers softly,
the wood retains breaths of empty rooms,
embroidering on the floor thin lines,
a map for those who are no more.
Trembling lines reveal distant names,
traces that remain where memory makes its home,
a route among chairs and faded memories,
the night guides those who stay behind.
The house is silent, yet the map breathes,
the chair still sings, subtle and tenacious,
those who are no more find their own boundary here,
between wood, darkness, and breath that will not leave.