One Day

One day I will leave, quietly slipping away from here where I have been held up, nameless, all winter. You will not notice my going. Where once a presence existed there will be a small, rounded absence tucked in some corner of your mind and even this will soon fill to a flat, featureless glaze. Perhaps years hence, there will be a day when the sound of rain softly cushions an afternoon and what has been forgotten slowly revives to float pass a drowsy eye, momentarily catching the light to flare somewhere on the edge of a vague recognition, though I am not sure whether it will be me.