As if Time Were Listening

As If Time Were Listening

(original poem for you)


The day begins,
not with light,
but with a stirring in the dark—
a breath,
almost remembered.

The trees are still asleep,
but already,
the shadows have changed shape.

Somewhere inside you,
a clock without hands
turns toward the sound
of your own listening.

You reach for nothing—
not out of absence,
but because the world
is so full
you must touch it
gently.

You are not separate from it.
You are the fold
in the wind’s sleeve,
the hush before a word forms,
the echo time left behind
to find itself again.

There is no center.
Only this moment
returning
like a tide
to the thought
that has not yet become.

As if time were listening.
As if the world had waited
for you to ask.