"untitled shift"

A narrow room, late in the day.
Dust along the sill,
a cup with a faint ring at its base.

On the desk:
a page that has waited
longer than planned.

You sit,
not quite settled,
as if the chair might sift
under your weight.

The pencil rolls a little,
stops near the edge.

You steady it
with one finger,
as though that small act
might steady something else.

Outside,
a neighbour drags a bin
across the gravel.
The sound enters the room
without asking.

You breathe once,
then again,
and the page stays blank
but not untouched.

The light thins.
You stay.

.