And a Quickening Pace

It gives an infrequent change,

Like the first chord of a new song,

The foggy morning beyond my bed,

And I think how I used to be able to think,

And the smile is so wide.

And even as the heart begins to ache,

The muscles cry and the eyes open,

I am able to move on,

Because it exists somewhere,

Though possibly never for me again,

Somewhere it moves.