bellwether

The little things:
a date forgotten,
a name misspoke,
a blank stare at a familiar face -
micro-moments of other,
of insubstantial.
Miniscule things,
yet each a bellwether
of what's to come.
Each a singular drop of rain on
a watercolor.
And with each
plop and splatter -
you blur and fade
and only we
who have memorized
each contour and line of
your portrait
can still see the you
in the abstract wash
left by the storm.