Memory that Breathes

Broken windows open a breath of memory,
Inside time stretches out a cold hand.
The house no longer exists; only an echo remains,
That inhabits the voids between dust and light.
The wind enters like a curious witness,
Whispering names of rooms that cannot return.
Every crack becomes a page that breathes,
And memory ignites in a gentle beat.
When night falls, the scent is of absence,
But that smell of salt recalls who we were.
A window looks inside and inside we look back,
Until the house no longer exists but only as memory that breathes.