Not a mouse stirring.

All is still
Even the air has settled
And will only move a fraction to pass from lung to lung.
It is a frozen stillness
Like a breath, held.
Normally, the world whistles and sways a bit
It rustles, it scratches at the walls
It’s music, abstract and irregular
But comforting somehow
Life, moving through the walls
Blood, moving through the veins
World moving through the sky
Has it all been suspended
Everyone poised where they stand
Sniffing into the future?

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