The morning speaks in folded napkins,its breath a rumor of tea and trains.Somewhere, the sky forgets itself—a blue too casual for confession. We speak, you and I, in broken time—half-sentences, half-remembered hymns.Between our words, the silence bloomslike lilacs left in an unwashed vase. —“Tell me,” you say, “where does the dream gowhen the clock wakes?”And … Continue reading THE COLLOQUIAL