A Seam

Feeling unseen even in my dreams.

I’ve fallen in a void
through a seam in an hour,
where clocks don’t run
and light rips into fractals.

There, I’ve become a thread—
unspooled, unraveling,
losing my strength,
folding myself into other shapes.

The sky has blinked ten times,
the clouds have gone missing.
Time wears no watch.

A ringing has started in the air,
once—
a lonely vibration.

I’ve dialed,
fumbling for nothing,
and your voice
is the reflection
of stagnant water.

I’ve become the blackened
windows of our home,
the lights left on,
and nobody can see.

Still, I orbit
the known rooms—
invisible
to anything inside