From last March
Like mist over a lake that lifts and dissipates
into the air, so I disappear.
Like spring snow that, once it has landed, melts
into the earth, so I disappear.
Mist, snow, myself- things that last for a moment and then are lost,
perhaps never having existed at all.
These things that skim the surface of this world and then fade into the dark and endless sea of nothingness
require proof, a stake to claim that they were,
or that they are.
Sometimes a simple photograph suffices.
As for my shadow self, I need words,
words on a page to prove that I am here
somewhere in this vast place
over which I hover, longing for an anchor
to hold me steady.