He sleeps more than wakes now, one foot in each world, says the book Hospice gave us to help us see what to maybe expect. Sleeping near-round-the-clock is the norm since Thursday.
I tiptoe in while he sleeps. Plant feet; left hand to pull the pain and the disease away; right hand pouring silverwhite pulses of light, moonbeam light, brightly intense as a night-sun, yet this cools and spreads a sort of starry duvet made of night-dreams and the love of the woman standing there, feet planted, toes curled for purchase… The tableau holds a moment sculpted in our familiar space, humming in tune with the sounds of that glorious blue-silver white shimmer coming from the inside of my palm, washing over sleeping Mark, bathing every bit of himself and the bed too, plenty bluesilverwhite lovelight for us all… Left hand claws; pulls; tugs; with a soft groan of pain, she pulls away a darkened mass of something untoward and unnamed—unnameable lest it take form—she latexes her fingers with the darkness and tangles it as if it were an ogre’s hair, finger-combing and tugging, and soon, when all the sicknesses are placated, asleep or sent away, Pete Gabriel’s SeeMeABigWoman. Memory of past and future ride beside me. Be strong, my love .
Empress of Cloth
He sleeps more than wakes now, one foot in each world, says the book Hospice gave us to help us see what to maybe expect. Sleeping near-round-the-clock is the norm since Thursday.
I tiptoe in while he sleeps. Plant feet; left hand to pull the pain and the disease away; right hand pouring silverwhite pulses of light, moonbeam light, brightly intense as a night-sun, yet this cools and spreads a sort of starry duvet made of night-dreams and the love of the woman standing there, feet planted, toes curled for purchase…
The tableau holds a moment sculpted in our familiar space, humming in tune with the sounds of that glorious blue-silver white shimmer coming from the inside of my palm, washing over sleeping Mark, bathing every bit of himself and the bed too, plenty bluesilverwhite lovelight for us all…
Left hand claws; pulls; tugs; with a soft groan of pain, she pulls away a darkened mass of something untoward and unnamed—unnameable lest it take form—she latexes her fingers with the darkness and tangles it as if it were an ogre’s hair, finger-combing and tugging, and soon, when all the sicknesses are placated, asleep or sent away, Pete Gabriel’s SeeMeABigWoman.
Memory of past and future ride beside me. Be strong, my love .
8 months ago (edited) | [YT] | 1