Lost

Among the Counted

I leave the room while standing in it—

Their mouths go on; the language falls without landing.

Far off, a footstep keeps its weight.

I know I knew it. Now it has no direction.

Daylight has no record of it.

I stand among the counted, nearly gone.

Departure and its posture wear one face.

It may be long before I look at you,

or before any face knows I am there.

The tree's rooted as its vessels collapse.

It fruited every year it stood.

You came; then we could not stay unarranged.

Now certainty has placed me elsewhere.

You see me here. I have already gone.

And you've already gone.

Marni Fraser

2026

III:VI PM

0814.2026