The Shell of a Sigh

A gentle breath, the weight of silent soul,
detaches from the lips, a veil of vapor.
But it does not vanish, it is not absorbed air,
it leaves an outline, a frail enclosure and a longing.

Is it the empty shell of a moment of pain,
or perhaps joy too acute to remain?
It settles softly, on a windowsill or a chain,
a transparent relic that no one knows how to notice.

And there it dwells, a shadow without trace,
an echo without sound, a faint boundary.
Silent keeper of words that the brow
has not dared to speak, beyond any end.