Tracing crumbs on my page
Moving the pencil to meet their point,
But they jump away
Afraid of fixed
Dead certainty.

Blowing them away with a breath
They fly on,
Now impossible to mistake for
The graphite kiss my pencil gives
When I accidentally place it to paper

Gone, like so many,
Crumbs of people met in life
I suppose we are all
Crumbling.