the snow writhes
the black square totality blocks
blighted in its gusts
across from us
the hall..the rooms of
dark and the little blue
world of the television
for the dying
the healing
the wounded

the IV pole like
a little scarecrow
the tubes to nourish
away that which
haunts you
snakes beneath
the pale pastel
blankets
the low lighting
the others coughing
the footsteps in the
hall...

curled in her chair
feet up eyes on
texting
our meals in the
trash with the needle
swabs and old discard
pain meds.....plastic
from the crimped IV
line..the nurses swift
in movements..the tape
adhered to the little
wrist.....a healing fang
shiny in the light
your television eyeing
you up on its boom
tethered to the wall

and i watch the drips
and count the days
knowing you hate this
place..its smells
its confinement
the angry ones you
go up against with
your will

submerged now in rest
the house like vacant
dream without you
there....everything
was you...everything
is you...

our bus leaves soon
its so cold this winter
i feel helpless
the machine beeps low
another saline round
your daughter stretches
and its time we go

i miss your wry humor
your hard ass words
kicking my ass

kiss you goodbye
for the moment
and we navigate
through all the modern
quiet corridors of
effeciency..
the tall glass beamed
beauty of esoteric
and function
nodding at people
leaving or arriving
for night shift

your child and i chat
waiting when they
release you

to come home

the town lights
flicker like a mirage
in the distance

sometimes
thats all there is....