K’s last hours

I wrote this today for a gentle saint, with whom I spent some of the last hours of her life:

 

Beneath the veil of sheets

a sleeping agent creeps;

administering her calming whisper

that touches mind and heart,

leading to a quieter night,

more still than any that preceded.

 

The slow vibrato of a pulse

reminding, between cluttered breaths,

that life has not absconded

to the next room,

but waits to eavesdrop

on related conversations

and distant recounted memories.

 

Pauses, in the colloquy,  

lead to the contemplation

of death

who impinges on the silence:

reminding each

of the consequence

of mortal life.

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