Tuesday, January 14, 2014


Light changes everything, tricks the eye
and then the heart, to believe in the cryptic,
a canticle of temporary, breakable or already
broken dreams and songs that were meant
to be all we needed against wind and storm.
At nightfall I can believe in many things
impossible in the luminous morning;
the nacreous moon steals reason,
hides truth behind a soothing fa├žade,
impassive, pretending and remote.

I see you silvery, as through a prism, a drop of water,
or a veil of forest leaves mottled in a dozen

shades of green, there but for a fleeting second
and then not, just beyond my reach, grasping,
groping to touch your face.
So much regret, so much loss, pooled on the floor
like a sheer curtain, shielding but exposing
injury that cannot heal or mend itself
as though we were already gone, leaving nothing
but a gesture, some fragments, a few poems.




  1. Thank you for this lovely poignant reflection; it echoes in my heart and mind.


  2. Thanks, Janelle. I find it interesting that, given the fact that everyone's journey is unique, there are so many ways in which we share the pain. I have many caring friends and family who want to help but it is only those who have gone or are going through Alzheimer's who can understand the enormous isolation we feel so much of the time. I'm glad you found something helpful in this poem. I mailed your book so hope you like it. Take care of yourself.