January 3, 2012


My symptoms
are the usual kind,
forgetting a lover's face,
standing in a room
beside myself,
wondering why I came here
in the first place,
knowing she
is waiting in my mind.
It will all come back to me
somehow, perhaps in time
for me to find a reason
before I walk alone
into the shadows,
lurking in the room
right down the hall,
with a stronger pull
each winter season,
push on the open door
marked Private,
find her made-up bed
to be so inviting,
each year a little easier
to find.