Garden of Echoes

Among forgotten objects memory breathes
a breath crosses glass and baskets of rust
time remains still in a whisper of dust
the room opens, like a garden of silent shoots
Every thing receives the breath, changing face to time
the clock is silent, yet sows hours in petals
fragments of moments sprout among yellowed paper
a chair becomes a root that holds the memory
A key opens invisible doors to the hands
photographs fade and find the light of a room
objects speak a language of remembrance and absence
the corridor becomes an avenue of wind that carries names
Thus memory breathes among the objects
transforming time into a garden of echoes
and who listens finds himself among dust and scent of paper
until the present blooms, without haste, among memories