The geometry of silence

A quiet quilt of stone beneath unseen footsteps.
Each square holds weather differently:
some worn smooth, some still coarse,
one cracked straight through and holding a small pool of last night's rain.

Between their edges, thin dark seams of earth
where seeds push up anyway.
A blade of grass leans crooked through the geometry,
not whispering anything, just there.

Humble blocks, nothing more,
laid into a path that never asks to be noticed.
It only waits, and slowly sinks
under the weight of the stories that walk across it.