I’m not sure I recall
what it looked like or
how it sounded.

I think
it used to have
music with it, but now
I’m not as sure of that as
I once was.  

It had
a grand texture and a pleasing skin
but perhaps it has been flayed
in the ages since I last
laid a hand on it.

I’m limping in fog toward
the last place I saw it and 
my cane’s not touching pavement
where I used to walk so easily.
Now I’m in fog so thick
I can’t hear the click
of the tip of the stick
hitting ground.

Maybe it’s broken and I’m reaching
for something below my feet
that is there but refuses
to let me know it remains solid,

but I dare not take another step
for fear of a cliff
and a fall.

Happiness indeed used to be
around here somewhere,
but I think it has moved on.