Gaps, lapses, memory diminishing,
fail-safe synapses are what I’m missing.
Dreaming of the old oak tree bough piercing
my new stained-glass window I’m still missing.
Doctors (King’s horses and men) assisting,
assembling—timeworn hips, knee I’m missing.
Human life humming, hissing and dissing,
listening with hearing loss I’m missing.
A trip or trek finds me reminiscing,
cities, seas, windbreaks, snowflakes I’m missing.
I bring along keepsakes, snapshots, wishing
for Margaret, the child, I’m missing.