Encephalomyelitis Disseminata

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.