Names of Dreams Never Born

The wind opens the book, thin as breathing paper,
the pages tremble with the world’s breath.
Names tremble among lines yet unwritten,
dreams that have never seen a word take birth.
Each name is a beat escaping through the doors,
a promise of light not yet revealed to sight.
The margin notes silences and missing lights,
the ink keeps what has not yet been born.
When the book remains closed, the wind stays within,
a window on the possible still open.
Perhaps one day a breath will bring back those names,
and someone will give them form, in the world that awaits.