All in my carefree days I rested in beds others were to sleep in after me, and yet my heart was unmoved. Then, from time and words and love, this field of dreams, this jousting yard, these tousled bedclothes, this my marriage bed of 35 years.

Now, as each day I awake and leave the bed, gradually a little more of me remains behind. I almost see and almost hear this surcoat, this self shadow, as if in whispered conversation with the rest of itself, waiting, as it were, for this shadow to become whole.

Then shall the carefree days return.