The city’s forgotten breath stills in a mist of spent lights. Through the alleyways, air retains names of hours, voices hung upon the breeze. When a lamppost falls quiet, the night whispers secret heartbeats. And the street rebuilds what once was unseen. Every time a lamppost stills, the air turns to a page. The city’s breath writes in unseen calligraphy on wet walls. The letters are breaths that drift through brick and lost voice. And with every fresh flit, poetry waits to reappear.