Alzheimer’s
1
At first the fog rolls in,
And it is like glaucoma of the mind
with everything
appearing fuzzy around the edges,
Still I retain
my power of navigation.
2
Now I can only go
to the wall I scale.
Sometimes getting higher than others.
I find myself atop once in a while
enjoying the sunrise,
Concurrently fearing its setting
for each time
may be my last somewhat clear day.
3
Finally trapped, my head
becomes a box.
Unaware, I sit in the dark
silently trying,
connecting the fragments of my mind
as my tomorrows slip away.