It is wrong to remember her as she once was
and only then register how she now is,
For she is now as she is now,
She is not what she has become.
By day, we walk slowly through the crowds
Guided by her stick
Taking time in the world,
Letting its forms take shape.
But at night I lie long awake,
Or fall into a fitful sleep
Rent by the teeth of fear, thinking:
She is, but soon may no longer be.
Copyright © Paul James