Silent Dance - Tyrone Ferguson

No footfall, no rustle—
yet motion lives in the hush.
A curve leans into absence,
a pause becomes a whirl.
The metal remembers the sway
of imagined limbs,
each angle a held breath,
each void a step unspoken.
It listens—not for sound,
but for the echo of intention.
Stillness is its stage,
and silence, its score.