Larry Eugene Jordan

The light begins to lean and fade,
A quiet draft across the floor,
The ghost of every plan we made
Now lingers by the open door.

I reach for words you used to say,
To bridge the silence in the hall,
But shadows have a heavy way
Of making every echo small.

Yet in the stir of morning air,
Or when the stars begin to bloom,
I find a piece of you still there—
A heartbeat in an empty room.

For love is not a thing that dies,
It simply changes shape and tone;
It watches through another's eyes,
So no one ever walks alone.

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