Buzzing, flitting--
Out of reach.
Evading defiantly:
A drunken gnat of memory.
Tantalizing with maybe,
Could be, almost…
Sleep descends,
Eyes heavy in a curtain of dark.
Hidden letters a-b-c stretch out,
Swatting the inebriated midge.
The almost-name, almost-word
Rises from the hazy smoke
Of buried, cluttered
Memory
I wrote this in 2013, back before the senior citizen years began.
This means so much to me now that I have reached this age and my brain taunts me all the time. Damn it.
