I am not as human as I used to be.
Sure, I crossed the threshold of childhood
smoothly,
but only as smoothly as one can cross
a river ending in a
cascade
a road ending in a
cliff
a trial ending with a
sigh

You never remember when you lost something,
or where. Was it on the road back from school? Did someone
steal
it from you?

So when did I lose touch? And where?
Did my childhood
fall from my pocket by mistake,
or
was it
stolen away,
before I could realize
what it meant
to me?

Something happened, before, beneath;
like a flower buried under snow,
I am not as human as I used to be.