The echo of an unspoken word (Marcella Boccia)

It lingers where the silence sways,
between the dusk, beneath the tide,
a ghost that time cannot erase,
a shadow I have locked inside.
No lips have shaped it into breath,
no hand has traced it into ink,
yet in the hollow hush of death,
it haunts the space between the brink.
No ear will catch, no voice will claim,
no wind will carry what it heard—
for only I will know its name,
the echo of an unspoken word.