Echoes of Morning Mechanics

It opens like a sigh, low and slow,

a rusty metal chain swinging in the wind,

a voice from the past, still echoing below,

yet I can’t recall who it was back then.

That creak, a reminder of half-told tales,

a childhood sealed in the echoing sound,

a garage door rises; the past exhales,

and all of my memories are tangled around.

Neighbors shuffling in the morning light,

and I wonder if they, too, hear the call,

like old friends weaving through fading night,

something alive in the air, yet no one recalls.