Low Light, Old Air

Low light leans against the walls Like it remembers other nights Not these Older ones Dust turns golden Floating without purpose Time loosens its grip And forgets to tighten again A window breathes The city forgets its name Traffic softens into pulse Pulse into hush Somewhere An old rhythm wakes Not loud Just present Like a drum behind a hill Sombra y calma Peso sin forma A quiet with weight A silence that stays The clock stops insisting Minutes blur their edges Nothing asks to be noticed Yet everything is Low light settles deeper Old air learns the room again Nothing begins Yet everything has shifted The night does not announce itself It simply arrives And waits