Forgetting

He wanders the halls,

Picking insistently at the edges of the pale pink wallpaper,

Looking in vain for shiny gray metal and flashing lights.

They were there a minute ago.

*/

He stands before the door,

Waiting for the whooshing sound,

Waiting for the magic to happen, for the door to slide open.

This door has a knob. He waits a long time.

*/

He has a visitor,

A dark-haired man with warm brown eyes.

They sit in the garden, longing for the springtime, bundled against winter's chill.

The man tells fine stories.

*/

Alexander knows there is something he should remember.