Your ability to breathe
is a fragile thing;
I used to worry
that when you released one,
you would not have the strength
to catch another.
Now I know that time is soon,
and there is no more need
to worry about what will come,
because it has come.
Your hands are birds at your side,
fluttering against the restraints
they have put you in.
I watch you
because there is nothing else
for me to do.
I have loved you
for all of our strong lives
but now I continue to love you
long into our weakest days.
You fight
because it is all you know how to do,
and I see
the bone and sinew of you
revealed
as your body sheds
all that is unnecessary
in this, its final months,
whittled down to weeks
and days, and then
hours, and now,
at last,
minutes.
Seconds.
In, and out…
In,
and out…
In…
Out.
