Into the Mist

Recipe to Disappear

First, fold your name like paper—

crease each letter until it vanishes.

Leave your shadow behind in the doorway,

it no longer fits your outline.

Speak only in riddles to mirrors,

then walk away before they answer.

Empty your pockets of echoes,

they carry too much memory.

Erase your scent from old sweaters,

burn the photos that remember too clearly.

Let silence learn your favorite song,

then hum it backward into dusk.

Find the edge of a quiet town

where mail doesn’t reach and clocks forget.

Change your laugh, your gait, your hunger—

let even longing grow unfamiliar.

If someone calls your name in the dark,

do not turn. Let the stars respond.

Become wind threading through pines,

become a page unnumbered.

And when you finally vanish,

leave a note only the rain can read.