At
the
bedside
in
becalmed
death
light.
A fight.
Our lady
barefoot.
All of a
flurry.
A snow globe scene
from
Knock
or
Lourdes.
Even
now
another
row.
She won’t
let it
lie
won’t
let him
die.
Mysteries
sit
on
a
dehydrated
tongue.
With her
he
could
do
no
wrong.
Jesus
not
another
song.
If he opens his eyes
time starts again.
We’ll have it
out
he’ll give me a
clout
A few belts.
They remain
closed
but
we
are
closer
and
my
heart
melts.
Bowed head
Enough said.
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