Disappearing Act

Disappearing Act:

 

I find stillness

Beside pangs of suspension.

I’m worn; dull around the edges

As sea glass and just as

Weathered.

 

Four months ago you knew me

Now it seems circumstances

Let you forget

 

I talk to your dial tone and it tells

Me I might be familiar

Though how I’m recognizable,

You can’t put your finger on

Or couldn’t

Or wouldn’t admit you once had

So I’ll go back and dust for prints

….we’ll find me.

 

Or is there enough of me left

That isn’t entombed?