Lyric

Behind the cloudy glass

One white handle waits

Turned toward the room

Like a small unfinished question

Morning used to find it

Warm beside the sink

Your hand around the rim

Before the kettle clicked

No one moved it down

No one threw it away

It learned the upper shelf

And kept its little weather

Some things do not disappear

They stay too ordinary

Holding a place

Too gently to accuse

I reached for it once

Then changed my mind

A cup can be heavier

Than a photograph

All the loud grief left first

The quiet kind remained

In porcelain

In dust

So I closed the door

Without taking proof

And let the shelf keep

What the house could not say