Alzheimer's Unit

February 1, 1998

Every evening, just when quiet comes, she awakens on the prowl.

 

Every evening,
just when quiet comes,
she awakens on the prowl.
Men spared from longing
float like seaweed
and hear her chant,
relentless as the thousand
tongues of waves.
A few understand
her body's invitation,
the deep taste of salt.
But none recall
the night before,
reviving in her sea.
And when by chance
they kiss and click
like shells in the surf,
a door closes,
and their rhythm is an ocean
where memories swim with starlight
over the chanting swells.