Whispers of Leather

Abandoned shoes, leather mouths that drink the moon.
Every stitch swallows steps with no return.
The wind threads tiny keys of dust through laces.
They sing softly, like stones remembering the sea.
Their song is a cartography of forgotten ways,
names glued beneath the soles, clocks without time.
The laces weave alphabets that no one deciphers.
The pavement answers to a rhythm of tired heels.
The moon lets them speak until dawn steals their voice.
A cat listens, then turns; the city walks beyond.
Yet remains a thread of note, a trace still vibrating.
Thus the shoes’ secret hangs suspended in the night.