My bones dissolve in the acid of memories.
My ribs unravel into winding streams,
my hands lose their shape in the current of your thoughts.

My breath becomes a whisper,
soft ripples folding over your name,
like amber waves.

Melancholy spills from your pores,
I am in these restless currents in your veins,
dragging myself along.

You don’t remember my name.

I am only the hush of moving sorrow
that you can’t identify.

I am overflowing with you.

Please, please, remember.

Photo Francesca Woodman, Untitled, 1975.