Beams

Years fly by like telephone poles from a train window

And the fallen columns and broken marble that occupy my memory

Disappear one by one as fast as the years.

The seat across from me is empty, but the motes Whirling silently in the sunlight from the window Gild the wooden chair in feeble attempts To rebuild the perception and the feeling of you,

Proton by proton.

Struggle but fail.

The taste of your mouth and the smell of your hair Shimmer into the discarded artifacts of my intellect.

I am afraid.

I am afraid that I won't recognize you When I die.