If I should vanish, will you know?
Will echoes trace where I have been?
Or will the years, like melting snow,
erase the shape of what was seen?

A name dissolves upon the tongue,
a photograph turns pale with dust.
Once voices sang where silence hums,
once love was more than scattered rust.

The walls forget, the sky moves on,
the earth still spins without my name.
And though I whisper, hold me close,
I fear you’ll never do the same.