that keep their shape
before dissolving into
rheumy mites, are pregnant
with cancelled dreams.
Peer as we might
what lies there
are our pygmy wishes.
More light, the poet
on his deathbed said,
let in more light
pink fingerlings of sunrise
on a fogbound lake
or woodland leaves
perhaps remain
in halls odiferous
with antiseptic swabs
and morphine drips
and unexpected pain
Johns Hopkins Hospital, March 2020
