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In the brighter silence of

dappled late September dusk

I position your wheelchair

to catch the last of the sunset

to share such fleeting moments

watching clouds and birds.

There are others talking

but we touch knees, touch feet

hold hands until it is

institutional dinner time.

You ask if I hear crickets,

and want me to sit in a metal rocker

that would worsen my vertigo

and I make a mental note to

tell them you have tinnitus.

I hope this regression is

temporary; I pray a million things

as the doctor tries some medication

to ease your anxiety.

You, who are moving backwards in time

while I capture every detail now

and am having difficulty living

without you, eighteen minutes

northeast of home.