A Borrowed Name I Never Tried On Poem by Keith Koech

It wasn't thunder,
but my ribs rearranged —
books slipping
from an unseen shelf.

You looked at me
like something familiar
in a dream
you couldn't place.

And I —
hands in my pockets,
language tucked behind teeth —
stood still
and let the moment fold.

I could've said something.
Could've leaned forward
and broken the symmetry.

But some warmth
is meant to flicker,
not burn.

I said nothing —
but I carry the moment
like a borrowed name
I never tried on.