I try to grasp you,
I can but glimpse you,
hiding in the long shadows,
of a damaged mind.

For a fleeting second,
I feel I know you,
then I lose you again,
in the scramble.

I forage for a meaning,
a scrap of recognition,
a small fragment,
a piece of the gigsaw.

Each day more of you goes,
even though I struggle,
against the inevitable,
the spaces claim you.

Should the day come,
when I shall read this,
and sit there perplexed,
not knowing who wrote it.

(c) 5th October 2010