October 5th, 2015: Tuesday Night

(A slice of light faintly illuminates the tubes at your bedside--
the coma crept in, caressing your translucent cheeks.
There is comfort in this quiet kindness,
the immobilizing inky sheets, the shivering sounds of strangers.)

And I held that box in my chest, caressed it carefully
like a baby born fifteen seconds before;
immobilized and blinking the visage of inky womb with shivering eyes.
The fragile thing tingles legs that have stood for too long.

(You have no dreams in your hospice slumber.
The dim darkness has lasted 15 seconds, 15 years--
only the ones who watch you breathe know the truth.
Your body has become fragile. A breeze tingles the drawn blinds.)

It was a catalyst I felt in a daydream
that severed the seems of an umbilical cord
that oxygenated the breaths of a cell-bundle;
formed in the shade, cries when pupils constrict with light.

(And all at once, your eyes bloom completely
and your trance is severed, with plastic cords tangled
around your wrists. Your cells and your mind and you are alive.
And everything is illuminated, slicing through bedside night.)

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