Flickers of motion,
half-formed intentions
looping behind the eyes.
A question hums beneath the skin:
how will this electricity proceed?
Where does it go
when it cannot spark?
Bottled in bone,
wired through thought,
it crackles in silence,
pressing against the ribs
like a storm looking for a name.
Will it leap
from voice to voice,
a word finally spoken
at the right frequency?
Will it ground itself in touch,
in tears,
in the slow voltage
of a long-held gaze?
Or will it burn inward,
a quiet current
scorching the soul
into something new?
Phantom efforts
still haunt the edges —
but the charge builds.
The light
has not yet
decided
where to land.