I
I linger in the hush of water’s echo,
my voice still a ripple in the air.
You exit, swift, as if I too evaporate—
the light in your hands extinguishes me
to an absence.
II
What does it mean to un-see
or un-hear a being,
to harvest silence from a living presence?
The corridor of your mind shuts its doors,
unaware that I stand, breathing,
in the room you deem void.
III
A body can fail its eyes—
we are each opaque at times—
but how to explain the ear gone numb,
the heart untrained in shared resonance?
IV
In your quick flick of a switch,
the abyss swallows my humanity.
That darkness, so casually summoned,
aims to sever the continuum of “us,”
to recast presence as only shadow.
V
Yet my voice remains—a soft thrum
within these walls, an unrelenting summons
for reciprocity. For a space so generous
it welcomes the hush of my footsteps,
the gentle expansions of my breath.
VI
We are meant to inhabit the room of each other
with a spirit of give, wide enough for many worlds.
To turn away is to cast a seed of negation—
it grows into convenient forgetfulness.
VII
But I persist, defying the empty,
resisting the ease of your dismissal.
To vanish is never the truth of my being.
I am here, constant, undeniable—
a presence you cannot simply will away.
