Requiem For Dust

When
you’re old
you will not remember me

All
those
neuron clusters
changed and aged

Memories
of
your life
of what you have become

Like
the
ages of past
in
looking at the chalky desert
that’s
what we’ll have become

In
an empty room
your middle-age
daughter
might ask
“who was this?”

To
which
you will answer
“Sweetheart, I do not know”

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