A time will come
When you will erase my birthday from your calendar.
You will swipe from your electronic memories
My address, my links, my breath.
I have two kinds of being.
The one I know, the one you know.
Mine could be shorter, and is linked indirectly
To the stars that wobble in the night,
To the moon that arcs its sometime passage,
To the sweeping sun, to the variable tides.
Yours is an impression
Chalking on a first rate stone by the sea
Eaten by lichen.