The pattern of my day has become ninety percent
the same, as the day before,
the day before, the day before,
repeated actions, a couple of games of Cribbage
to get the brain in gear, repeated actions,
an album of the day, in which to reminisce,
to remember you,
or someone that looks the same,
as you did back then,
in my memory,
the sense of new excitement
coursing through my veins,
as I undo a new recording