Glass Tide Bruise

There was a shift in the quiet around me Like a door

left ajar in the air Not a sound,

not a word, not a warning Just the sense that you somehow

were there

And something in me leaned toward it Like a shadow learning to

move There are moments that ask for no meaning Only something you

don’t dare to lose You passed through the light without touching What

the rest of us struggle to name Like a truth that refuses

a language Yet leaves everything altered the same I found you where

the hours fall softer Where the world loosens its hold And the

noise folds back into silence Like a story that’s no longer told

Your voice never needed to rise there Still it settled inside of

my chest Like a hymn that forgets its beginning Yet somehow remembers

the rest And I thought of the life I might stand in

At the edge of the space you define Not beside you,

nor close enough to— But somewhere your light could align

We could walk where the evenings unravel Where the sky gives itself

to the blue

And I’d speak of the things I imagine As if they were

already true Not to hold,

nor to claim, nor to alter What was never meant to be

mine But to stand in the grace of your distance Like a

man at the edge of the divine There was a name I

carried in silence It moved like a breath in my chest Too

fragile to fall into language Too restless to ever find rest And

once— in the hush between moments— I let it come close to

the air

Emma… But it broke before it could settle Like something that knew

not to stay there And I saw all the days I could

live

in Not with you—but shaped by your light Little worlds held in

quiet reflection Of the way you reassemble the night And

God—

If He ever passed through that silence He chose not to leave

any sign For some things

are too finely constructed To survive being named or defined So I

left it untouched in

the distance Where it breathes without asking to be Not as love,

and not as devotion— But something that passes

through me We could drift through the hours unspoken Where nothing is

lost or defined And I’d carry the trace of your presence Like

a warmth I could never confine There are lives that are never

assembled Yet remain more complete than the rest Just a glimpse of

a possible heaven That refuses the weight of the flesh And if

I fade into some later

evening With no trace of the man I became There will still

be a quiet horizon That remembers the shape of your name Not

spoken, not held, not returning Not lost,

and not needing to stay Just a light,

far away, barely moving— Still finding… its way