Names Rewritten by the Wind

The wind has a secret grammar
among dusty frames notes the names
it folds them like paper beneath tired light
and adds a comma where milk was lacking.
The abandoned house breathes in photographs
blurred faces, windows flung open with memory,
the wind renames lost identities.
in the edges of dust, birth of new syllables.
When night closes the door, only remains
an alphabet of whispers on the walls;
the wind, librarian of time, archives
every face into a word that is no longer itself.