Legibility

A fragment on the ghostly autopoiesis of silence.

You speak.
But the sentence
was already there.

As if etched
into the silence,
waiting for a voice. 

Not yours,
just close enough. 

It fits.
They nod.
It means nothing.
You need it to mean.

It passes cleanly
through the filters—
well-formed, 
well-timed, 
well-behaved.

Survival—
by fading
into expectation.

You feel it leave your mouth—
settle—
in the middle of the room. 
Like it belonged there
before you did.

And so the silence keeps speaking:
In words 
you didn't choose, 
but learned
to inhabit. 

We celebrate. 

This is ritualized silence:
The waiting that proves
the room is working. 

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