odd couple

I walked with you again today
hand in hand
down the sterile hallway,
as you slowly shuffle
your way through this maze.

You squeeze my hand
a signal I slowly learned
was how I could gauge your mood,
since it had been years since
you have said a coherent word.

The nurses watch this odd couple,
the frail and the young
the patient and the physician
pace these hallways
day after day.

I learn with time
the subtle reality
that no medicine
in my vast armamentarium
will quell your agitation
as much as the subtle act
of holding out my hand
and taking a walk
down these hallways
once again.

east and west

for W.H. Auden

A fallen comrade
passes into the dark night,
one moment standing at your bedside
holding your hand
as our digits intertwine
the warmth passing between
our skin.

The next:
your skin growing pale
the ashen fetor slips between your
dermis and subcutaneous tissues,
the funeral blues,
as you pass
ever so quietly
into eternal sleep.

You are taken
from your love;
their are no planes passing overhead
painting messages unto the sky,
for the only sound
is the respirator
switching to the off position.

Their are no stars
to extinguish in the night,
only cardiac monitors
and pulse oximeters
to disconnect
allowing silence,
in finality,
in your time of death.

the rose city

Seeing you again,
slinking through your streets,
sun soaked
and under the cover of summers darkness.

You are my lady covered in sweat,
the funk, the stench of my years
between these hallowed shores.

How dare you change around me,
without me.

Forcing me to explore you again,
to trace the path
of the evolution of my youth
under your new skin.

I want to embed these streets,
into my soul.
Roll in your grime and grit,
and tattoo this earth,
permanently,
deep into my dermis.