Silver Time

Time slips through the cracks of memories,
a silver lizard on the wall of hours.
Every crevice breathes an ancient light,
and the present lets itself be rocked by silence.
With its tail it draws paths between dust and dreams,
among photographs that tremble without weight.
The skin of hours sheds shining scales,
while memory sings within an extinguished breath.
The lizard continues, invisible, into the dawn,
and time grants a minute of peace to memories.
Thus memory remains, trembling and fragile,
but always ready to remake the path.