The Mute Shadow of the Whisper

A whisper, an air-algae, veils the breath,
it does not break the silence, but thickens it for a moment.
An ephemeral weave, a faint sigh,
that shatters on the threshold of the unspoken.
Without weight nor body, a mute tremor,
born and extinguished before it is heard.

Yet, where hearing cannot reach,
nor the wind holds memory of a brushed breath,
an inert silhouette, a fleeting shadow,
stretches out, not dark, but steeped in meaning.
It is the absent density, its silent contour,
the shape left by the resting void.

It is the unspoken that pulses, the echo that vibrates,
of an absence that still breathes.
The mute shadow of the whisper floats,
in the inner self only the heart aims for.
And there, where thought becomes more intent,
it carves a secret, a wonder.