Masked and passive,

just the drawing of a breath

across her threshold;

 

she is home in a cage

for a bed, bars prevent

any spillage or descent.

 

Her chest become a bellows;

body bidding it

to rise

and fall

and rise again,

summoning the will

to act in total independence

of an opiated mind.

 

We stand to one side

as the medical procession

passes by.

 

Collapse.

The King is on his knees;

terror re-configures strength

in eyes too scared to see

and hands that cannot bear to touch.

 

Buttons pressed,

re-connecting

‘you are Husband, you are Man’.

 

Cheeks wiped,

I take her hand in mine

and show him how to be.