Minds and Hearts (For Roger, for Maurice, for me)

I've seen this before:
how layer by layer, expression dissolves
   first words
   then phrases
   then all verbal is garbled.
What's left in place of speech is Touch:
   your fingers drawing quiet circles on her hand,
   gentle slide of palm against cheek.

I've seen this before:
how bit by bit, the body forgets
   first cleanliness
   then co-ordination
   then finally, how to swallow.
What's left in place of the physical is Essence:
   sometimes furious, frustrated fists
   but more often she hums her best-loved songs.

I've seen this before too:
just one time in a room lit by twilight
   clear eyes meeting mine
   her strong, whole self arisen through the fog
   briefly, but long enough for all to be said.
What remains beneath all that fades away is Love.