Wind Among the Cracks

The wind whispers in a code of cracks,
an invisible tongue among broken walls,
and tells what a house dares not say;
a light murmur of forgotten things.
Homeless dreams lean against the bricks,
among webs of light and cold dust,
and the world spreads beyond every window.
The breath guides them like a nameless map.
Every verb of the wind is a sign of travel,
a shadow that drifts without ending,
among drops of dust and extinguished nails,
the secret tongue writes dreams upon the air.
If you listen, open your hand to the breath;
let the house be born within the sigh.
The secret language finds a chamber
in the beating of walls that know no age.