Vital Signs

We take a walk by the riverside, the first place you think ofafter the appointment. You blink slow, then fast.We eat sweet sunlight and marvel at pigeons, sittingwith our grief. The pigeons are small and unconcerned.You are small and wingless. We laugh at how our cellscome with instructions that they choose not to follow. You,deterministic and still unsure about whether you will waketo see tomorrow. The sleepless waiting room, bare despite our limbs,cavernous despite its windows. The quiet failure of the light.You blink slow and then you do not blink at all. I wonder whenyou outgrew your body or when the pigeons unfurled. When youwill come home, your body halfway between sleep and quiet death.The last day we shared, the sunlight was not sweet, but it was goodand fresh, acidic in its ferocity. I think I am still carrying it with me.