I am the lost one,
the one lost.
Shadows fall like guillotines;
it is the same time everywhere;
I've always been this age.

And I've been slipping
through your fingers
for years,
oozing molecule
by molecule
to the floor,
where I will collect again,
reshape and rise,
walk with dignity away,
remembering the grain of your fingertips
on my various parts
as I slid over and through them.

And I will think of you often:
how for a time
we did
what could not be done.