{One of a series of poems from the hospital}
My thoughts are imprisoned
outside the window
like moths trying to get in
to burn themselves at the altar
of your bedside reading lamp.
I sit with you,
my body a question mark
dangling on a chair,
you a semicolon curled
in paralysis.
Together we watch
technicolor miracles - a red-blazered witch
speaks of deaths, lives, money.
The quiet ticking of the clock
becomes too loud and long
from eon to eon.
I hallucinate about endless sea,
open cloud and free wind.
Freshly mown grass
and new delivered button roses
offer a moment's glimpse
at Life as we both once knew it.
Your grateful touch
brings my skewered perception
to book, the razor-edge of death
is walkable again.
I dont need caffeine anymore
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