© 2012,2013 Jennifer A. McGowan

First published in American Journal of Nursing in Feb 2012

Where once he sang,
silence. Light tenor
no longer soaring
between earth and air.
He weeps. Outside,
the wind collects lost syllables,
tosses poems out of his reach.
He thinks he remembers
more than the wind
echoing dully off the walls
in his skull. What magic,
what miracle, what quirk
or fold of time will restore
his shaping of words?
Meanwhile, he sits in the kitchen
drinking something hot,
trying to remember a teacup.