While in the mirror I’m an aging face
More or less the same day after day,
In the mind’s darker space
There are these handles to enticing doors
Of occasional abrupt transition,
Doors of entry, doors
Obeying the same laws.
So many rooms! Such impatience!
Backwards and forwards I make my way
With a fine sense of continuity
And the illusion of one memory,
But always now with the admission
Of an actuarial fear
That soon the day must be near
When I will stand and pause
With a shaking hand on one of the beautiful doors
(The doors that open and the doors that slam
Quite suddenly and for no cause)
When forgetting who I once was
May turn into not knowing who I am.