Echoes

Oh, it’s just an echo in the hall

A leaf that’s waiting for the fall

I’m tracing lines you’ll never see

In a house that used to be for "we"

like faded jeans

A house that holds what might have been

The guitar’s missing a string or two

Sings like a train that never knew

Where it was going, just the track

And no way to bring the cargo back

I leave the paper by the stove

A half‑drawn heart, a half‑built home

The ink ran dry last spring, they say

But the letters kept writing anyway

Wait for me down where the river bends—

Just a paper

with no end.