My Santiago

A love tryst

of sorts, Borne out of necessity, Need, loneliness and love, And the selfless care of one man

who gives license to the hope they create in their closeted lives; The morning visit across the corridor, From his room - to hers,

the quiet greeting, Her hope in that familiar face, The peck on the cheek And the arm, comforting, across her,

as he sits, - in that chair, Back to the vast expanse

of the outside world, Now closed to them, Except through scheduled, Planned, risk - averse, Bus outings, Forgotten even before they end - and plays the visitor, Asking about her night, Her sleep, Comforting her when she baulks at her dreams, Her predicament, Her on again - of again memory, Which now and again, Reminds her, What she would most like to forget, That she is losing her grip on memory, Soon forgetting even who she is or was;

But, at that moment, Of tears and breakdown,

he is there, Implacable, Solid as the crisp Hobart winter sun,