(I apologize for the formatting)

The mist that should be gossamery, envelops and squeezes me until I sink toward gravity, unable to gain an upper hand. Discerning only a void, beholding oblivion-nothingness.

Hearing her screech- powerlessness fills my soul. She needs my help, the help I am unable to provide.

The unwelcome mist dissipates. The sun glares down on the Mexican Market. Visions of ripe cantaloupe being sold for any price the American can pay. We are clasping hands, fitting together like two parts of a gemstone, cut once by fire, now together again.

This is where we bought our hand puppets and giggled because they became a part of us, with different voices. New appendages with their own personalities.

The people vanish, yet the sun, directly above shows it is not closing time.

You are now a petite doll, A patchwork dress with faded reds and inlaid blue stitches, a painted on glossy smile, black button eyes, champagne colored yarn hair.

Clasping with panic, your stuffed canvas hand Knowing you are now mine to protect- you cannot dematerialize if I hold so tight. You are my new appendage, my lengthened hand.

Yet somehow, you dissolve. Faded away from My unyielding grasp, my hand now clasping air.

Running frenzied through the dust streets Of the market, every stone, an obstacle-You must be found.

Help Me! Help me find my doll! Bellows through the Market, No one looks up, I speak in a foreign language. Besides, they have all vanished like you.

The word help should be the same in every language.

You are never found. Now in your new doll existence.

Are you lost always or do you live forever in this particle Of a moment, that will last for my eternity?