Without a sound to break through 
In the flowing of their eyes 
I sit and watch rekindled flickers 
Dance to wake the night 
Stepping through the softness 
Of the frigid warmth in light 
The caution in the footsteps 
Takes me years to forget right 

On, it's going 
to the form 
to the motion 
Often, flowing 
It is worn 
It is woven 

Exhaling I find the time 
To breathe it in again 
The ghost in me 
Remembers past the time 
I knew it then 
The patterns detailing 
focus on the still-life glen 
Caught between the motion 
And the color in the bends 

On, it's going 
to the form 
to the motion 
Often, flowing 
It is worn 
It is woven