I was waiting at the edge of sleep,
listening to the slopes of breath of everyone I love,
when I felt it,
I was watching the rocks at the bottom of the creek shine like glass,
my existence not a guest
but a participant of the trees,
when I felt it
my fingers scraped the bottom of the bathtub,
peeling of the last fragments of mud,
when I felt it
disappear
I lost the memories
I never thought I could
and the importance of each souvenir I brought home
wore away like a coat of paint,
I can't remember the peace in the meadow at midnight,
I can't hear the wind through the trees,
I don't remember what it feels like