A Liminal Waltz
​(for Samuel A. Simon)

He once was a troublemaker--
chalk in his pockets, questions on fire,
the kind of child who talked to stars
and dared the rules to blink first.
Now he walks a quieter edge,
where clocks melt into shadows,
and keys hide like clever riddles
he swears he almost remembers.
This is the “Liminal World,”
the place between the tethered and the drifting,
where yesterday wears new clothes
and the morning rewrites itself by noon.
They call it mild cognitive impairment,
but what it really is--
is standing in a room with all the lights on
and still not finding the door.
Yet—he dances.
In the ballroom of his mind,
he waltzes with everyone he’s ever known.
The rhythm stumbles, yes--
but never the heart.
There’s music in the “Nothingness Place,”
soft as the voice of his beloved,
his compass through the fog,
his steady North when memory spins.

She is the map he’s lost
and still somehow follows.
She reads the signs when he cannot,
writes love letters in the margins of his days.
Yes—he forgets the keys.
And names.
And sometimes, time itself.
But love?
That’s the one art
he’s never lost.

© PJ Fameli (2025)