hints, inklings, traces
drift toward the edges
of our walls, then disperse
before contact, defining space,
like eddies of cigar smoke
floating in a closed room:
here next to this window
to divine an answer for it all,
I sift the particulates
which cling to the words,
to the daily conversations- –
is that what I heard?
Am I but a whisper
puffed against these walls?
subtext 