Marco Di Caprio

Seated, I watch the shadow of myself,
 my gaze fixed on a pale strip on the floor.
 The light recedes.

Speak now. I need you.

Your presence once could fill this silent room.
 Now only memory remains, untouchable.

I reach, but find no answer in the air.
 The silence holds. It does not answer back.

And in that stillness, something gives way.
 Not sound, not sense, but something less than both.
 I stay, and watch the shadow take my place.