forming a perfect arc, in tandem
leaving lovely equidistant tracks in the
new fallen snow
temporarily renewing my faith in
beauty and coincidence.
But I am in the sub-zero hospital garage
returned from a brief break from her bedside,
during a winter where I will lose
much more than foliage.
She is suspended above me on the 5th floor,
some angel frozen in an ugly rapture
high above the streets of this town
in the hospital where I was born
struggling hard for every breath
a ventilator obstructing more than it seems to aid
barring her from speaking, so that our
only communication is the kiss she blew
through the window as I left an hour ago
and some hand signals pleading for me
to recite the rosary to her
I count the beads down
one by one, ten and one
and hope that she will
forgive my trespasses
praying mostly that the 5th floor
of this sterile skyscraper is
not the highest she will ascend.
