Behind imaginary glass, the water
rises, only my hand now breathing air.
If I could rise, stand upright, I could
breathe, but strength deserts me
under the strain of one more challenge.
Where is the resilience I called upon,
gone with the years passing, each brings
another age line, another downslope slide.
How many slips backward before there is
no returning, before the final slide into darkness?
Carol A. Stephen
February 9, 2017