Marina Sanchez
When sleep still clings but morning’s near at hand,
The campus breathes in whispers, soft, profound.
Each window holds a light the dark had planned,
Each footstep fades before it meets the ground.
The trees lean close, their branches brushed with gray,
As though the silence teaches them to breathe.
A book left open waits for break of day,
Its pages trembling softly with the breeze.
The air is thick with thoughts that dare not speak,
Of hearts that roam while bodies rest in place.
The quiet hums, a truth both strong and weak,
That time moves slow but never leaves a trace.
And in that pause, where dark and dawn convene,
The mind drifts lightly toward forgotten dreams.