No Trace

Poetry

Photo by Karen Gillman on Unsplash

In the discomfort of the silence,
in the mess of my disentangled self,
the vertigo of the one-way stream
unfolds like a slippery line

I press my heels with all my force
against the uneven bricks,
the pavement cutting through my flesh
there are no stops,
there are no stops

Over my shoulder,
I look in despair for chips of flesh
spread in my shadow

there is no shred to mark my passage,
there is no trace,
I left no trace

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