Secret Breath

Daily objects, breaths concealed;
every touch of rain awakens them in silence,
and lost time returns to become speech.
A cup, a pen, a metal lamp;
when the rain brushes them, breaths lengthen;
memories of minutes that won’t return.
The fogged glass and the cold handle;
every drop is a page that notes lost time;
the house listens, silent witness.
Then the rain falls, breaths become the scent of wet wood;
they remain on surfaces, echo of a time returning;
thus the objects still breathe, awaiting the next deluge.