An Other

There is an entity in your voice,
A cold frequency I can't recognize
Like nighttime air fastened to your breath,
A bad new static that slowly ascends.

Covert in these strained, hollow pauses,
A stanger's shadow extends,
Filling in the empty spaces,
Where love or trust have failed to tread.

Suddenly,
In a battle.
Home sweet home.
Subtly losing ground.

The wind
Inside a bottle,
Ghosts of ghosts
A sound is still a sound.

A thought becomes a thing once it is conceived.