Little by Little

He first noticed
signing his name.
Bold fluid strokes,
still bold but
no longer fluid.
They quivered.  Then
his glass began
to rattle against
his teeth as
he drank, but
only he noticed.
It wasn't until
his fork shook
and food spilled
that he began
tucking his napkin
at his collar.
He used to 
shake a leg
to get things
done.  He was
not used to 
shaky hands that 
slowed him down.

He fell asleep
beside his beloved.
Hours later, asleep
one moment, and
rolling out of
bed the next.
Knowing in that
split second he
was going to
hit the floor
and thinking, "This
is not how
one is supposed
to fall. One
is supposed to
fall in love."

He entertained with
stories that began,
"I've often said."
Which, over time,
became simpler: "Have
I told you?"
Over time those
dropped away to
stories and snippets
repeated and repeated
often daily, filling
the void left
open by things
he couldn't remember.
First just words,
then entire memories
often mismatched or
missing, gone, or