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