(The Dove and the Spiral)

 

I am not merely glass —
I am memory held in light.
Each curve of gold,
each spiral drawn,
remembers breath you thought forgotten.
I was born of silence,
shaped by hands that knew
how love leaves echoes
in the spaces we pass through.
The dove is not still —
she listens.
She listens to what was never spoken aloud,
to what walls carried in their quiet bones.
She listens for you.
The camellia blooms in the corner
like a hush placed gently
on a restless moment.
It is here to say:
“Purity remains beneath all things.”
Stand before me not to see,
but to feel
how the light weaves stories through you.
How even your absence
left a trace I now reflect.
You are the walker of chambers,
but I —
I am the threshold’s keeper,
and I remember
every vow you whispered
when you thought no one could hear.
Come close.
Place your palm on the golden swirl.
Feel the warmth?
That is you,
returning
to the space
that never left.