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