hospice –
rubbing lotion
into her still hands


bitten nails . . .
holding the pain
in her hands

worry beads –
one by one I parse
your silence

nightshade –
the smoothness
of an aubergine

lonely night –
even the moon
looks around

darkening forest –
a wood thrush
begins to sing

chance of a lifetime –
my finger in front
of the lens

unable to swallow
childhood memories
rise up