I am one hundred thousand water droplets
Leaning fast on the oxygen like daylight over the cemetery.
I am that very light that forms parallelograms
In the sun dial of your bare white room in the rail town.
I am the child that falls and does not break anything;
I am the child that falls and gets hit by the train in Barcelona.
I was never yours.
I am your reflection in the back of a fish refracted beneath your lance
Ready to dart away. I am in the air of the prison vents
And in the vents of the court room just before that
And I precipitate within the dew on the monuments years later.
I am the parallelogram of light that falls
On the empty side of your bed after the war.
The same that forms infinite trapezoids of myself as the days wear on
And draws all over your walls in the evening and morning light,
The same that encapsulates the motes of dust that are not mine but yours.
Unfortunately you will have to understand that I am no more
And strangely so, I never was.