Not a trace.

Not even a trace

I said,

feeling my skin pull tight

the white

the bite

of teeth exposed

But

later in the mirror

I saw faint lines

of it still

around the eyes,

the skin

a faded path

to someone

lost.

Heard

it still in the bird

song sweet,

the wind slamming

shut

my bedroom door

and even now in

early morning breathing.