Alone for now my brain, which includes my mind,
Sends eager tendrils to my pressing eye,
To scan as the paramecium slides
Along the slide, it tightens my eyelash,
Also rimmed with cilia, though not the kind
To help me feed or move, the kind that I
Could wave in a sly unison that hides
My lightness in an unfindable cache.
I have been tempted to give her a name,
Some of the mystery would disappear,
But then, what in the world would I call her?
And would it become just more of the same,
Be part of what I have begun to fear,
She stays the same, I am getting smaller.