oblivion

I cannot form words as I once did... I am sailing quietly on a silver ship on a gray sea... a constant speed and course is always set... this is my oblivion... constantly forgetting names, memories, facts, and figures... information is slipping by as if I were holding it in an open hand as fine sawdust in the wind. A lone figure stands with its back to the setting sun... I strain to see as it raises an arm and points to the south... I turn my gaze and the horizon approaches me... distances condensing as miles become mere inches, then mere fractions of known measurements. I see her to whom the construction of beautiful sentences is no stranger... she continues in her work of synthesizing fragments of scraps of metal and broken glass into dreams and mirages. I stretch out my hand as if to stroke her hair... and then I remember the reverberation of her emancipation from me. I cease to reach and close my fingers into a fist before me... I open my hand and a tiny typewriter appears as I draw it into place with my eyes... I use my index fingers in a blur of motion... language appears also in blurs on the scraps of paper that erupt from it... thoughts approach light speed once again... old patterns of vague dreams slip into conscious thought... yet this only lasts a moment... and then it is gone.