Beneath the whispers
I hear a nascent breath:
a phrase, isolated,
out of context, yet
still a residual force—
like a white noise
days after a concert,
sings in my inner ear.
Outside the poem,
ghosts of my desires
rise mouthing words
out of order, slurred,
as a pentacostal’s
frozen fire burns.
(February 3, 2025)
subtext 