Some days disappear like childhood toys.

Wearing down slowly,
the fibers disintegrating.
Impossible to remember in detail.

Once cherished, the days and the toys
evaporate into corners of memory,
next to the now unpaired socks
we were sure we once washed.

We do not mourn the loss.

The disappearances repeat
on a familiar amber loop that is
both warm and cold to the touch.

Radiating heat.
Expelling cold.

A gentle, inevitable sizzling
that echoes only if we stop to listen.