all that remains (back verse)

a destroyed house on the beach in Grenada

a metaphor for my life

 

All That Remains

 

A hinge without a door, the memory of walls,

through hallways that once bowed to my stride.

Now the floor is my horizon, low and endless,

my hands the engines of every kilometer.

The house is gone,

but the dust still tastes like lullabies.

and the corner,

where the light used to fall, still lives behind my eyes.

My body, folded into metal and with sheer willpower,

carries what it can.

a spine that remembers standing, legs that echo like empty rooms.

I am not what I was, but I am still here,

a moving silence, a wheeled whisper

tracing the outline

of all that remains.

Done