[I wrote this on a piece of paper in I think February of ...

[I wrote this on a piece of paper in I think February of this year, before we took Dad to the hospital the first time.]

My father leaning today on the kitchen counter with no lights on as I come in to get a water glass at dusk.

"What are you doing?" I ask against the angle the blue room makes.

"Lost," he says. He looks not directly at me, but off a little. "I'm the only one here."