primary progressive aphasia

Take the sun away. It hurts too much. Give me dark forest under a vague moon.

Let me lie down in the hollow of my tree with moss and petals as my bed. The dreams when they come will soften all blows from my past. All old senses will reappear.

Seeing the cloud patterns spelled out, hearing the affirming rustle of leaves, tasting The offering of overripe berries. The forest creatures are shadows that delight.

My breath is slowing, my heart relaxing. Is this living or is it hiding? Or is that merely a distinction without a difference?

Perhaps it is a reconciliation, an admission of my inherent weakness. I am deathly afraid of real beasts in this world.

Those in-between fleeting moments before you let go of the night and greet the day.
I walked into the kitchen and touched my mother’s shoulder. It comforted me.

Next was my watching her slowly die. I touched her shoulder and gave her fluids.
It comforted me, this girl and woman who existence was wrapped in fear and feverish
dreams that echoed reality. Words spit with venom that cut to the bone.

The  only touches I remember. The rest of the story belongs to the night and day of darkness
And fear and unfathomable head knocking to keep the the wolf at bay. Day and night.

Any way that you look at it, it’s a deciding factor, benign or malignant. Could be the wind.
It stands there beckoning me with a wink and a nod. I take my first baby steps as prescribed.
The background music of my childhood lends a sinister tone as I gradually ascend untethered.

It’s now an obstacle course. No hint of what is to come. No direction, too much to lose.
I’m not alone now. I have a partner on this journey upwards. He remains a stranger to me.
The zigzags are dizzyingly connected. The creation of a new life, far off course for years.

Oh, but those were the days best enjoyed in the rosy rear mirror. Those indelible moments to savor.
The fever of adult childhood, the pull and tug of senses and desire. Passion saddled with angst.
A slowing approaching a slight deviation of the trees, sensed more that seen. A drop in temperature.

I find myself looking down more now, some would say backwards. My feet are moving with resistance.
A faint sound surrounds me, and the air becomes heavy. I am so close now that I can feel the gravity.
The journey is over. I have reached the apex. No more choices. I cannot retrace my steps. It’s up.

Boundaries have always fascinated me. The separation between here and there.
Fences abound to keep us in line, but the invisible ones are the biggest problem.
Connections are lost before they begin. You wave your arm in solitary alignment.

Really, aren’t we all in confinement? From crib to grave? Free will until it isn’t?
Even so, that’s hardly enough for us. The other is our enemy. We must stake our
Territory with no trespassers metaphorically allowed. “Keep Out” on the door.

But the final boundary?  – it’s beyond our sight and knowledge. How will we find it?
When do we feel that gravitational pull? Not to worry, my friends, not to worry.
The summons is writ large in the stars. That old fence will open wide -- and then shut.

Light is too easily eclipsed by darkness, its power denigrated and belittled.
The mind is limited to black and white, with gray the matter that’s evident.

My cup is half full of regrets and third chances, success lingering in the shadow.
The other half presses on with optimistic revelations and a nod to the sun’s glow,

A glow that has more meaning as I get closer to my own horizon. I can feel its warmth holding my swaddled body, reassuring me that the past is irretrievable,

And the future is preordained at the end. The sun will be with me then and forever.

The slate of my life is tarnished with rust and indifference impervious to the strongest of solvents.

Waking dreams and sleep recollections scatter across the line of sanity so carefully constructed.

Looking up, looking down, the sky and land shake hands ironically in a show produced only for one.

There is no more here, not even a here to speak of. It is cloistered deep in the earth’s bank of treasures, along with peace and comfort.

Considering the inevitable, I’ll sit this one out, positioning
myself under the oak’s lush canopy with my regret-tinged heart.

Awaiting the next journey full of dust and embers.