She came in gently,
like light under a closed door.
She did not sit or stand.
She only was.
Something passed between us,
not speech, just memory
suspended in air,
like dust in sunlight.
Soon her presence began to thin,
like morning dew,
or the music one remembers
only when the room is quiet.
I did not reach for her.
There are gestures
that exist only in the mind.
Outside, the willow’s leaves
stirred for a moment,
Then, just stillness.