Memory Threshold - Tyrone Ferguson

It waits at the seam
where forgetting falters.

A hush before the image returns,
half-formed, half-felt.
The shape is not memory—
but its echo,
solidified in gesture,
anchored in time.
Here, recollection becomes architecture.
A curve holds a name,
a shadow recalls a voice.
This is where the past
learns to stand still.