The man leaving the café with a smile.
The woman stirring her espresso.
The little boy wearing a Maradona jersey.
The old woman asking if a chair is taken.

Can I disappear into this maelstrom?
A drop of rain into the sea,
lost to history? I want to vanish
inside the ceremony of traceless beauty.
Some things exist that leave no footprints.
Only smears of meaning, a grief so silent
it’s like a star that cannot yet be seen,
the light travelling endlessly from far away.

The way my father looks when he’s tired.
The smell of my grandmother’s hair.
The sound of your name in other people’s mouths.
The sound of your footsteps as you disappear into the world.