We ask the nurse to turn off the monitors.
With no more numbers to watch, we watch
your breath. With alarms silenced,
we listen to each other breathe. We hold
your hands. We wait.
My brother murmurs a blessing. In the long cold night,
the quiet expanse where gravity steps silent,
I whispered my gratitude
for Asimov and Heinlein
for chaos fractally expanding
for black holes and the edge of time
where burst stars boldly go.
Each pause between the rise and fall
grows longer, your chest diminished, your flush fading
to waxen yellow, the infection burns hotter,
shining ultrasonic waves,
and you do not. Every two hours, nurses turn you,
but your revolution has slowed, spirals down.
They’ve not come now, twice.
To the stars beyond, Father. Blaze your comet
trail incandescent dust and red fire,
Glo/NaPoWriMo Day Three: “Today, I’d like to challenge you to similarly write something that involves a story or action that unfolds over an appreciable length of time. Perhaps, as you do, you can focus on imagery, or sound, or emotional content (or all three!)”