He lies sleeping but not still
On a narrow bed with wheels and motors
The sheet at his back cool and smooth
A vague shape beneath a cotton blanket
Thin but heavy pure white
I look down at him
Paper skin over bones of chalk
I am selfish
I want to wake him
Hear him speak and see him smile
But I do not
His chest rises and falls
Breaths short and shallow
That start with a twitch
A microscopic gasp
Puffed out past dry lips
An exhausted sigh
His hands twitch
With opiate dreams
A brow furrows then melts
Now a tight-lipped grin
He's holding a small child
Or perhaps turning a screw
The release of a spring
Or a shudder from cold
A leap from a branch
Or stumbling on a ledge
I watch it pass by
But am unable to tell
Another breath
His lips scarcely move
A whisper answers a question
Asked only of him
Another breath
Fragile old man
Fish~
21 September 2014
